


The Lost Generation

by NyxEtoile, OlivesAwl



Series: The Adventures of the Avengers Initiative [3]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, F/M, Gen, PTSD, Prohibition, Recovery, References Past Assault, References Past Rape, Second Generation Characters, Sequel, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-22
Updated: 2015-09-26
Packaged: 2018-02-22 03:21:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 49,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2492591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NyxEtoile/pseuds/NyxEtoile, https://archiveofourown.org/users/OlivesAwl/pseuds/OlivesAwl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Sequel/Threequel to</i> The Great War<i> and overlaps events found there. Finish that story first for best clarity.</i></p><p>
  <i>In which: we see war from a different point of view, childhood sweethearts grow up, dresses are scandalous, alcohol is illegal, the mob is involved (or maybe not), secrets are kept and told, and red haired, left handed women cause all manner of trouble.</i>
</p><hr/><p>
  <b>Part the First</b>
</p><p><i>“Show me a hero, and I’ll write you a tragedy.”</i><br/>F. Scott Fitzgerald</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Kindness, Dignity, and the Weight of War

**Author's Note:**

> We got such a great response to The Great War and Charlie and Anja, so we are very excited to give you their story and introduce you to some new friends.
> 
> Please take a look at the tags. An assault/rape is a major backstory/plot point though is not shown on the page. All our characters are dealing with some sort of PTSD and scars from the war. There is heavy stuff here, but also a lot of humor and love, as usual.

_The Great War, American Rear Lines  
Southern Romania - July, 1914_

 

It had been a very long walk for a bath.

There really wasn't any running water on the front. People washed with rags and buckets. Anja Barton had gotten used it. She'd traveled to a lot of weird places with her family as a child, so it hadn't bothered her the way you'd expect it would bother someone who'd come perilously close to having a deb ball.

Today, however, required a bath. It required hot water, and lye soap. She didn't have any of that, so she settled for a murky stream that was, at least, not as cold as it looked. She'd walked miles, back through the entire trench system, until emerging past the rearward artillery lines. She passed the hospital and the quartermaster's stores, the massive armory and the hastily built rail depot. She kept walking until the churned mud turned into grass, and then trees. She was probably, technically, AWOL, but no one said anything to her as she passed. She was Natasha and Clint Barton's daughter. The shadow cast in front of her was pretty damn long.

Once she found the stream, she climbed into it, clothes and all. She'd love to burn her clothes, come to think of it, but she'd have to explain their loss to her mother. So she sat in the moving water, and listened. She had inherited her father's hearing, such that she spent most of her time at the front with them stuffed with cotton as a defense against the shells. For now she listened intently, hearing nothing but the water and the wind. It was fully dark, so there were no guns blasting. A cow mooed somewhere. She was completely, entirely alone.

She put her face in her hands and let herself sob.

It was the longest continuous cry she could recall having. She imagined at some point in her childhood she'd cried like this. A skinned knee, a bonked head. Kids cried. Someone hugged them and then everything was all better. She didn't think that would work this time. For one thing, the idea of being touched right now made her feel like vomiting. For another, everyone she could think of to tell would be too busy planning homicide to be of much comfort. So she let her tears do their job.  
 When she was wrung out, she stood, stripped out of her soaked clothes, and scrubbed her skin till it was red and chaffing. She dunked and wrung out her hair a few times, really wishing for that lye soap. Syn or Loki might have gotten it for her, but they'd have asked why.

She was shivering by the time she finished. She pulled the wet, clammy clothes back on and started the slow, miserable walk back to the camp.

 _Look at the whole picture, Eyas. Keep a clear line of sight._ She could not count how many times her father had said that to her. She had to figure out what she needed to do next. Telling anyone was clearly out. If they found out she couldn't even defend herself from a drunk private, her parents would have her on a ship back to New York faster than she could finish the sentence. She had to stay. She wanted to fight. To prove she wasn't weak.

Even though, in reality, she was.

Shame, she thought, might eat her alive.

_Keep a clear line of sight._

She didn't think she'd ever have to see. . . _him_ again, at least. He'd sober up in the morning, remember exactly who she was—who her parents were—and join the ranks of the deserters by dawn.

Her mother's advice rotated into her consciousness then, the day she'd handed her a diaphragm. _This will do you no good if you don't remember to get it before you need it._

She stopped in her tracks, armory now in sight, and beyond that the hospital and camp. Remembering had never been a problem—when she'd intended to have sex. A wave of nausea rolled through her, chased by the urge for more tears. She breathed deep and slow, counting her heartbeats, like her father had shown her so many years ago, and the urges passed.

All right, what would she have done if she'd just had an accident? Gotten carried away on her own, maybe while drinking, and woken up realizing she'd made a mistake. She focused on the buildings in the distance. Syn would be in the hospital. She could tell, long before there were any signs. And she'd be able to do something about it, of that Anja was sure. 

Problem was, Syn would be curious. Would want to know. And she couldn't lie. So telling her the truth would mean anyone asking the right questions would know. Right. Time to tap into her mothers advice. Obfuscate, deflect, and lie.

She stood outside the hospital for several moments, breathing slowly. Calm. Cold. _Shoot between the heartbeats._ She took a deep breath and stepped inside.

It was quiet, the day’s wounded had been triaged and dealt with. Which was good. She didn't want to make small talk with Uncle Bruce. His eyes were entirely too kind. She found Syn in the back, in the small space she'd carved out for an office. "I need your assistance."

Syn looked up from the bandage she was rolling. Like Anja's mother - and Anja herself - she liked to keep her hands busy. She smiled when she saw Anja. "Of course," she said, sounding tired. "What can I do for you?"

The less questions she provoked, the better. "I did not have my diaphragm in. Can you tell if I'm pregnant?"

She put down the bandage she held and tilted her head. "It was tonight?" she asked, voice gentle but professional. Anja nodded, not trusting herself to speak more than she had to. "It's too soon to tell, Anja. You'd need to come back in a few days. Five or seven, to be certain."

 _No._ She wanted this done. She wanted it over. She didn't want to still think or talk about it in five to seven days. She felt nauseous again, and tamped down the sudden rising panic. "B-but then you can—you can fix it?"

Syn's eyes narrowed a bit as she studied her and Anja's panic threatened to choke her again. The woman was a thousand year old sorceress, how on earth did she think she would fool her? "Get a little carried away?" Syn asked, still studying her. "Swept away with emotion and didn't realized your mistake till later?"

"It happens," Anja replied. That wasn't a lie. It definitely happened to some people. In fact it had happened to her mother. The story had come with the diaphragm, and contained far more information than Anja wanted about her parents' relations.

"Yes, I suppose it does." Syn put her hands on her knees and stood, managing a thin smile. "Well, no need to make a mistake last a week, hmm? Who knows where we'll be then. I can bring your blood on early, if you like. That'll clear out everything and prevent the possibility."

Clearing out that entire area seemed like the best idea Anja had ever heard. She felt a flash of gratitude, and fought to keep her voice steady. "Yes. Thank you."

 _You could tell her._ Syn was the kindest person she knew. She would understand. She would make her feel better.

And then, by intent or accident, she would tell her husband. Loki considered Anja one of his, and was exceptionally protective of those he placed in that category. It would be a hundred times worse than her father. There would a smoking crater in the ground that the Badoon could see.

Syn nodded and touched Anja's abdomen, below her navel, right above her pubic hair. She felt heat, both in and out, then something that felt like a PMS cramp. Syn took her hand away. "It may be a bit heavier then usual. Do you want something for pain?" She paused slightly. "Maybe something to help you sleep?"

Just like that, Anja knew she knew. Somehow, she'd figured it out. Maybe she'd noticed something when she touched her. Who knew how her healing power really worked? But she knew, and she hadn't asked. Just offered whatever help she could. And Anja kind of loved her for that right now.

Sleep would be good. Sleep would help. She looked up at Syn, gave her the best genuine smile she could, and nodded. The other woman nodded and rummaged in her desk, then handed her two envelopes. "This one for pain. Every four hours, no more. This one to sleep. Take it right before you're ready to go to bed. If you need one tomorrow come find me, all right?"

Anja clutched them to her chest, afraid Syn might try to hug her. "Thank you."

"Anytime," she said quietly. "Anything you need, I'm here."

She nodded, and knew she had to go before the crying started again. She took a deep breath of the not-great-smelling air. Sleep. She needed sleep. Tomorrow, it would be better.

*

_Munich, Germany_

_Do you want me to stay for a little bit?_

Charlie Stark didn't know what had made Loki ask him that after he'd dropped him at the factory busy churning out rudimentary Iron Man suits. Charlie had a horrible task ahead of him—telling his father his oldest son was dead—and he didn't really require assistance with that. 

He still had no idea what possessed him to reply, "Yes," but it had saved his father's life. Tony's heart wasn't the steadiest thing, and when he'd collapsed after digesting the news, Loki had Syn there almost before Charlie fully grasped the situation. 

Surviving two heart attacks was as miraculous and impossible as surviving a four story fall, which Syn had helped Charlie himself do as a child.

After, when his father was resting comfortably, Loki went all the way to America to get his mother. Then Charlie got to tell her about George. That was absolutely, unequivocally, the worst moment of his entire life.

He didn't know who was going to be responsible for eventually telling George's wife, and all their sisters back home, but it sure as shit wasn't going to be him. Maybe one of his other brothers would do it. He ruled that out quickly. His brothers were terrible with emotion. 

Bea could do it. Bea could probably chew bullets and spit out the brass if the situation called for it. Smack in the middle of the mess of boys at the center of the Stark brood, she'd just rolled with them when they were kids. She'd once elevated an innocent gross-out war to legendary proportions. But not long after the pig-intestines incident, their mother had put her in a corset and taken her off to be a lady, whether she liked it or not.

Charlie squinted, thinking about it. It was summer. School would be out of session. She might be in Newport with the rest of the family. "Loki," he called. "Any chance you could go back and retrieve my sister Beatrice?"

Loki blinked. "Which one is she?" He waved a hand. "Never mind, I'll ask them." He disappeared in a flash of green. Charlie sat there, outside his father's bedroom in Germany, and waited, chin in hands. It was always slightly awkward waiting for Loki to bring someone. It could take seconds, like it had earlier with Syn. Or the better part of an hour as he tracked down and explained to whomever it was where they were going and why.

It was less than ten minutes with light flared and Loki stood there with Bea, who looked worried but together. He stood and tried to greet her, but she had him in a smothering hug before he got a word out.

He just spit it out. "Dad had a heart attack but is fine. George is dead." Was that the wrong order? He didn't know.

"I know, you imbecile; Loki told me. That's why I'm hugging you."

Charlie's arms tightened. "He's a good man."

She patted his back firmly and leaned back, holding him at the shoulder. "What do you need me to do?"

"Tell Caroline and the rest of the family. Make arrangements. Take care of whatever Dad and Mama need. I'm gonna need to go back to the front soon." He tried to ignore the embarrassing crack in his voice.

She petted the back of his hair, jaw tightening into her determined face. "I can do that. Anything else?"

He considered his next request carefully. He could never have asked his father this, even before the heart attack. The other boys were busy. He had to clear his throat twice. "If you—if you think you could handle it, I will need help getting the suit off of George's body. I don't think he'd want to be buried in it."

"Dad probably would," she said, making a face like the words escaped before she could stop them. Bea had certainly inherited their father's often poorly-calibrated brain-mouth filter. 

But Charlie found himself laughing. "And you and I will be the ones bolting him into it with some fussy funeral director hovering over us. Him and Jarvis." Charlie was pretty convinced the Stark's butler was immortal. He looked exactly the same as he had when Charlie was a child.

"And I'll suddenly notice the gyros need recalibrating," she added, smiling herself. "And we'll be there another three hours, making sure it's perfect for him." She blew out a breath. "I'll help you. Is there any way I can get less fancy clothes? I think blood and oil on my petticoats are more then Mama can handle right now."

"Probably. I'll get you some coveralls. Just don't let her see you in them."

Bea gave him a look. "I know how to avoid Mama when I'm in unseemly clothing, thank you."

"I'm also working on something in the alien metal. If you're really nice to me, I might give you a look."

"I think I'm being excruciatingly nice to you, considering what you're dumping on me." Her face twisted again, like she regretted the words. She was probably right, though. He'd yanked her out of home on a bright summer day and put her in charge of a funeral and asked her to pry their brother out of his metal tomb. It was a lot. Too much for any person, even his tough as uru sister. He just didn't have it in him to carry any more.

He swallowed with some difficulty, and his voice was hoarse when he said, "Thank you."

She nodded, wrinkling her nose like she smelled something off. Their mother did the same thing when she was trying not to cry. "Let's just do what needs doing," she said quietly.

* * *

To be continued in our next installment: _On the Mating Rituals of Archers_


	2. On The Mating Rituals of Archers

_American Lines, Southern Romania_

There weren't a lot of secrets in the trenches, especially if you happened to have excellent hearing. And even more so if you could read lips and had vision once measured at 20/5. There was a mission afoot, for a group of women to infiltrate the Badoon camp and spy.

Anja desperately wanted to go.

It wasn't just that she was perfect for the op, being a woman trained virtually from birth to be a fighter and a spy. It was an opportunity to get out of camp. To actually _do_ something useful. To feel in control again.

She found her mother in the makeshift bar with Jo and Sif and informed her, with all her Barton confidence, that she was going along.

Natasha stared back. "Absolutely not."

"I meet the requirements. I'm a woman. I'm combat and espionage trained."

"You're eighteen. Just because I let you come to the front does not mean you're ready for this kind of op."

Anja crossed her arms in an attempt to contain her anger. Escalating before her mother did would not win her any credibility. "How is this possibly worse then sitting on the front lines? I know there's no risk of abuse, or you wouldn't be sending anyone."

There was something dark and haunted in her mother's eyes for a moment. "I wish I could believe that to be true." She shook her head. "In any case, no. It's still dangerous as hell up there, we don't know what we'll encounter. _No_."

That was the thrust of their argument. They went around in circles like that for a while. As many time as needed before her mother understood she wasn't backing down. Any other time, Anja might have listened. Might have found a compromise, something. But not now. She _needed_ to do this. Even if she couldn't explain to her mother why.

Eventually, she won. Her mother wasn't happy, not a bit. But she conceded that Anja would be an asset. Still, she didn't look at her as she left the bar and went to tell Clint about it.

Jo looked like she might say something, but Anja just walked out, back to her bunk. She wished she could feel a little more triumphant about her win.

That night, she could hear her parents fighting about it. She could actually hear her father's voice, too. The number of times in her life she'd heard him raise his voice in anger could be counted on one hand, and none of them had ever been directed at any of the family.

They had a different argument, when he showed up to try and talk her out of it. He was insistent, and practically growling when he spoke—but someday, when she felt stronger, she'd have to tell him how grateful she was that he tried to convince her, not forbid her. Like maybe some part of him was starting to admit she was an adult. He had been the one, after all, to support her desire to snipe from a foxhole on the front lines.

They had the argument twice, but it was the last thing he said to her, as they were packing up to move to their launch location, that shot her through the heart.

"We have dangerous jobs. Dangerous lives," he said, his voice quiet. "I've made peace—" he broke off. "I could survive losing your mother. I don't think I could survive losing you."

Her mouth thinned and tightened. She blinked rapidly in an effort not to cry. But she did reach out and hug him tightly. "I'll be careful as I can," she said quietly, voice strained.

He pressed his face into her hair. "Keep a clear line of sight, Eyas."

At that a few hot tears escaped, absorbed by his shirt. "Always, Daddy."

Loki took them to the French lines on the eastern front. He reminded everyone that all they had to do was snap one of the anklets they were all wearing, and he would come rescue them. She swore he was looking right at her when he spoke. 

Then she busied herself packing the wagons, letting her mind spin about what was coming. The was yanked out her thoughts by Charlie landing a few feet away, in the gigantic flying Iron Man suit. She watched him hand something to Jo.

"We're about ready to go," her mother said, coming up behind her.

Anja nodded and glanced at her. "I'll spread the word." Nat gave a little nod and Anja walked over to Jo and Charlie, repeating her mother's order. She looked at Charlie while she said it. She hadn't seen him since George's death, hadn't been able to to talk to him much at the time, either. She'd missed him pulling her pigtails. "That suit makes you look fat," she said, hoping some teasing would make her feel better.

"I got dressed in a hurry," he replied. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm going with them," she said, full of bravado. And a silent part of her begged, _Please, of all the people on the planet, Charlie, please have faith in me._

She could tell by the look on his face, before he even spoke, that she would not get her wish. "Are you nuts?"

More fake bravado. She needed more of it. Sound annoyed instead of disappointed. "Oh, don't you start. I've already had this fight with Mom and twice with Daddy. Don't—don't start."

She looked away before he could respond, fighting the tears that had come up when saying goodbye to her father. She'd really hoped Charlie would understand, somehow. Charlie had always understood her, sometimes when she didn't even understand herself. That he'd call her nuts now. . .

But he was hurting. George. And his father had not handled the news well. Charlie was carrying a lot of burdens right now and she was probably adding to them. So she swallowed her hurt and expressed her condolences, because it was the least she could do. "I'm sorry about George. I didn't get to tell you before." She finally looked at him, and there were a hundred emotions on his face, none of which she knew how to deal with. So all she could think to say was, "I'll see you when we get back."

"Look, I didn't mean to—" he sighed from deep in his chest, looking down briefly. When he looked back at her the worst of the turmoil was off his face. "Try not to die, all right?"

She smiled. "You, too." She wanted to hug him, then. Throw her arms around him and just hang on. But even if she hadn't been fairly certain the act would send him into a panic, his suit was too bulky to make it practical. She settled for reaching out and taking his hand.

"Without you aiming arrows at the back of my head, it'll be like paradise." _There_ was her Charlie. She'd never been so pleased to have him poke at her in her life. It was such a wonderful, brief moment of normal.

She didn't know why that made the tears threaten again, so much so that she had to sniffle them back. "Well, if you weren't such a jackass maybe you could find someone else to watch your back."

They were still holding hands, in front of Jo and her mother and everyone. Awkwardly, they let go. "Nobody but you would put up with me, Barton," he said, voice quiet.

"And don't you forget it." Out of the corner of her eye, Anja watched Jo walk away. She finally dragged up the nerve to say, "I need to do this, Charlie."

For a second, she thought he was going to argue with her, offer to take her back. Then he just nodded slowly. "You be _careful_ , all right?"

He looked at her like he could see through her. Beneath the bravado and protection. Beneath everything she wrapped herself in. To the part that couldn't stop wondering if she was no longer worthy of her bloodlines. To the part that wondered if she was worth anything anymore. As if he knew there was some instinct in her to not be careful. People weren't careful with things that had no value.

She thought about her father's arms wrapped around her. Holding her like she was the most precious thing on earth. "I will be. I promise."

He studied her a moment, as if deciding if she were lying or not. He seemed to like what he saw, because he seemed to relax a bit. "If you get in a tight spot, I've noticed in all their tech there's a flaw in the cooling apparatus. Find that and snap it and the machine'll overheat in a second. And it's a bitch to fix, near as I can tell. How the hell they manage space travel I'll never know."

She wasn't sure where she'd find that useful, but it wouldn't be the first time his technical tidbits were. "Cooling apparatus. Cooling apparatus. Cooling apparatus." Repeating things at least three times helped her remember them. "Got it."

He gave her a very real smile, the sort that indicated he knew that nearly anyone else would have begun tuning out by the word 'tech'.

Her mother called for her from the wagons and Anja raised a hand to show she'd heard. "I'll see you when we get back," she said, gentler this time. More like a promise.

"I will not know a moment’s peace until you have returned." He'd meant it to sound sarcastic. She knew that. But that wasn't how it came out at all. 

"Maybe I'll bring you a souvenir," she said, backing away, towards the wagons. She lifted a hand an waved. She should say goodbye, but didn't want to. As if the word itself were jinxed. If she didn't say it, then she'd see him again.

That got her a smile. She could see his cheeks had turned pink, like he'd just noticed the emotion in his voice and was embarrassed by it. Since she she had similar translucent redhead skin, with a similar extremely obvious blush, so she didn't mention it. "Bring yourself a battle trophy."

"Even better," she agreed. She took one last, long look at him, the turned away to climb into the wagons. Behind her, she heard his suit gear up for launch. She looked up at him flying off, feeling an ache settle in her chest. She wished she'd hugged him.

*

Charlie flew all the way back to the American lines. He had a workshop behind the armory. Technically, it was for all of the Starks, but it was functionally his. His father stayed in Germany. Sam and Will were still in school—or had been, anyway. Neither of them were tremendously mechanical, anyway. Sam was a math guy, and Will's obsession with theoretical physics was fascinating and would probably be useful to someone, someday, but it had no practical application on the battlefield outside of attempting to explain spaceflight to the rest of their baffled team. Rob was a lawyer, of all things. Mama's son, Charlie supposed. George's head was all business, busy running Stark Industries since their father's retirement.

Past tense. George was dead. He stopped for a moment and let the grief well up and nearly knock him over.

He wondered if that was all on him now, too.

Charlie took the suit off as quickly as he could alone—which wasn't very quick. The second best mechanical mind of the brood was almost certainly Bea, but their father was not as. . .evolved as the Bartons. Bringing a young lady to war was not even a topic for discussion. No one had brought it up. But he wished she'd come back with him. She'd have gotten him out of this God awful suit by now.

When it was off he felt lighter but oddly naked. Like his skin wasn't used to being in the air. He paced the workshop a bit, putting the suit away, then forced himself to go outside. He hated this lost, helpless feeling. George was dead. Dad was still weak. The other boys were terrified. And his best ally (aside from a sister stuck in Newport and likely hating every moment of it) had just climbed in a wagon to go over enemy lines.

It was no wonder he found himself wandering past the armory and infirmary to the ramshackle tavern that had been built. It served whatever someone had smuggled in or Loki had thought to acquire. But there would be people there and light and maybe he could feel like himself again. For a drink or two.

There was a private who 'tended' the bar. It was a rotation of guys, and a highly prized, if unofficial, assignment. Doing so meant free access to the booze, though paying for things was more honor system. Somehow, it worked. 

It was early, so the place was quiet. In fact, the only people in there were Thor, Cap, and Anja's father. They had a bottle between them that was decorated in such a way that told him it was Asgardian. He cast a glance in their direction, and went up to the bar. "You have any of that whiskey left?"

The kid - and he was a kid, even to Charlie, which was depressing - dug around for a bit, then came up with a bottle with a few inches of amber liquid swishing around the bottom. "Here you go."

"Oh, don't drink that," came a voice from behind him. He turned to see Clint Barton holding out a different glass bottle, holding a clear liquid. Not the Asgard bottle—which was probably good, Charlie didn't think he could handle that. "This is good tequila," he added. Charlie could have guessed that. Anja had mentioned her father's tequila collection many a time. 

He also honestly had no idea what to call the man. Mr. Barton made Charlie feel like a kid-- but he was kind of scared of him, especially given the rash of highly inappropriate thoughts he sometimes had about Anja lately. And it was a table of his father’s friends. But he worked with Cap on a regular basis now, thinking of him sometimes as a peer the more they looked the same age. And that whiskey was shit. So he ambled over.

Steve pushed a chair out for him when he reached the table. Charlie sank into it gratefully and accepted the bottle of tequila from Clint with a quiet, "Thank you." All the men seemed to have foregone glasses and were just passing their respective bottles around. He had a pretty good idea what they had been discussing before he'd come and he wasn't sure he should be the one to break the silence now.

"Please give my condolences to your family," Thor said finally.

That was probably going to keep happening. Until he had literally met everyone in the army that knew who he was and who George had been. He gave a short nod. "Thank you. Dad's doing a lot better. Syn checked on him a day or two ago and said his heart was undamaged." He took a long drink of the tequila, which was dry, almost tasteless, and warmed him straight through. He held it out to Clint. "Mom wants him to go home."

The other man snorted. "I wouldn't take odds on that one."

"Yeah. He's already bugging Syn to let him come back." He shrugged. "That's Dad."

"My son has been pelting me with telegrams asking to come fight," Clint replied, an offering of understanding. The Littlest Barton was back in New York with the women. Charlie winced to himself, both at the fact and the nickname. Greg was a teenager now, but Loki had given him the nickname as a small child and it had stuck. Charlie was pretty sure he was still That Ginger Stark Hooligan in some corners of his workplace.

"Perhaps you should let him," Thor said. "It is a great right of passage to join ones father on the battlefield."

Clint swallowed another swig of tequila. "He is fourteen."

"I was ten," Steve offered.

"It's not the same."

"I wish they'd let my sister Bea come," Charlie blurted out, almost despite herself. "At least to work in the shop with me." He pictured his sister, wearing ill fitting coveralls, gritting her teeth as she pried the dented and charred breastplate off George's suit. She hadn't cried, or moaned, or vomited. Just buckled in and done what she needed. Better than a lot of the soldiers he'd seen here.

"No, you don't," Steve said. "'Cause she'd have been on that wagon."

It was a line of thinking he couldn't deny. And the worry rotting in his gut with the booze would only be that much worse. 

"Lady Sif is one of the finest warriors in Asgard," Thor said, clearly trying to reassure them. "She will look after them. And your women are also excellent warriors. You should have faith in their abilities."

"That's very easy for you to say when _yours_ are safe on the other side of the world." Apparently, Anja's tendency to get combative at attempts to find the silver linings in shit situations was hereditary.

"If something doesn't happen in our favor soon, no where in the world will be safe," Steve said quietly.

Thor bowed his head at that. "I have seen much war," he said quietly. "There is always hope."

"Well, it's really fucking hard to see right now," Clint muttered, taking another swig of his tequila. He seemed to remember then that he was supposed to be sharing and held it out to Charlie.

He took a long drink. "They wouldn't want us to sit here and fret. Or fight." Charlie gestured with the bottle. "Our women." He caught the word _our_ after it came out of his mouth. He shouldn't have tasted the Asgardian liquor.

There was a beat of silence and he braced for Clint to start yelling. Or asking awkward questions. Steve rescued him. "Charlie's right. We're not helping anyone like this. I know Jo would kick my ass if she saw it."

"Nat fully expects me to get drunk and then maybe shoots things. Long marriage has its benefits."

He'd taken the tequila back, and now Steve took it away. "No. I am not letting you get so soused you start speaking in tongues." 

They'd built their codes on the Indian language of Clint's childhood. Charlie knew the code so well he could probably translate said drunk babbling, but he didn't volunteer that. And now he imagined they were about to wander into their war stories of old, the ones from back when he was just a little boy. He wondered, briefly, if the three of them wished his father was sitting here. It was probably his cue to leave.

"I have a better idea," Clint said, before he could do so.

They all turned to look at him. "Not speaking in tongues?" Thor asked cautiously.

That made him laugh. "Meat." That got him nothing but silence. "When was the last time any of you ate meat that didn't come out of a can?"

Charlie had actually had a nice steak in Germany. His father had ordered it, and Syn had taken it away. He and Bea had shared it and a bottle of very dark beer after their grim task. But he didn't offer that, as the rest of them all volunteered rather sad lengths of time.

"We will hunt, then." Thor had caught on. "What an excellent notion. I shall fly us to some woods that the army hasn't rolled over."

"Or I can get you there without the wind burn."

Charlie turned in his seat to see Loki standing directly behind him, looking perfectly put together, as always.

"Brother!" Thor said happily. "Will you join us in our hunt?"

"I rather think magic makes it unsportsmanlike. But I've some time to kill and am happy to act as transport and help you finish that bottle of liquor." He pointed to the Asgardian brew.

Charlie thought maybe _now_ would be his cue to go, but then Clint put his hand on his shoulder. "Come on, kid." He paused, and he smiled, watching Charlie with that intense gaze of his. "I know she taught you how to shoot her bow." 

For a panicked moment he wondered if that was a bad thing to admit to. Like it was some sort of Barton mating ritual he didn't know about and admitting to it meant he was getting an arrow in the thigh tonight. Well, Syn liked him, Loki probably wouldn't let him die. "Yes, sir," he said. His voice didn't squeak or crack or anything.

He smiled and nodded. Approval. "Good. Let's go find dinner."

* * *

To be continued in our next installment: _Well Behaved Women Rarely Make History_


	3. Well Behaved Women Rarely Make History

_Badoon Fortress_

The Alien Lizards were very, very strange. Anja had decided to think of them as Lizards. Calling them by their name humanized them, and she preferred to picture them as the green slithery things that crawled around the garden.

Only gigantic.

They had assessed the women in the cart, and distributed them to different tasks. Her mother, as far as she knew, was singing Russian lullabies to them. They had Sif and Jo cage fighting, of all things. Anja, they wanted to look at. Maybe it was her youth, maybe it was her red hair. She wasn't really sure. Sif, and particularly Jo, were prettier than her. But they simply put her in a chair or on a pedestal and stared at her like a work of art, chattering in that weird clicking, hissing language of theirs.

It was. . . strange.

There were worse things, she supposed. They didn't have any interest in her breasts or ass or anything a human man would find arousing. That was probably for the best, she didn't think her sanity could have handled that. But if they wanted to stare and admire her leg and arm hair, well, weird she could handle.

It got her taken places the other women never saw. Meeting rooms and war rooms where the Lizards sat around and planned over a crude map of Europe. She watched everything, every turn and corridor, and helped the others sew them into their quilt when she was returned to the holding cell they all shared.

Today she was being taken far beyond anywhere she'd been before, trailing along behind a pack of them as they hissed and clicked and gestured grandly.

It was chilly in the generally indecent outfit they put her in, though she couldn't help thinking it would be really very nice at the beach in the summer. They took her through a set of doors onto a catwalk over a cavernous room. It was a factory, she realized, and they were building something. Something big.

She peered over the rail at the metal hulks below. She'd seen Charlie sketch something like them once. They were half iron tanks, half ships. Tanks that could roll through the front and then sail. . . Sail where? The Black Sea was the nearest body of water. It let out into the Mediterranean, and the Mediterranean into the Atlantic.

God. She had to get a closer look. "Master?" she called out, to the one who had learned enough English to speak with her.

He turned to look at her curiously. He always looked vaguely curious when she spoke, like he'd forgotten humans were smart enough to do so. "What is it?"

She aimed to sound as vapid as possible. "May we go down there?"

"Why does Orange want that?" The lizards had named the women without asking. Hers was Orange. It was dehumanizing and degrading, but she found it funny, too. Black humor ran in her family.

She opened her eyes wide, a universal gesture of being being fragile, innocent, and stupid. "I like the clanking sounds. They are so pretty." She beamed at him, fighting the rising panic at the offer she was about to make. If it caused them to decide to try touching her, she didn't think she could stay still. She'd probably end up dead. She took a deep breath of her mother's charm and her father's stillness. She even sought for the humor in it, that pretty much any of the Starks would find. "I can show your men down there something new. I have more hair."

He made a little grunt that probably meant interest. He glanced down at the factory floor, then gestured at the rickety stair that lead down. "They've worked hard. Earned a show. Go if you want."

So this was how she ended up wandering the shop floor, without the bottom half of her outfit, bringing production to a temporary halt as the lizards all stared at her. Eventually they put her in a chair in the middle and strung a rope around her. She simply sat there, an object for their enjoyment.

Perhaps that was all she was useful for. She wasn't a fighter. She'd thought she was, but she wasn't. She was weak. But she was, at least, pretty.

After a while the foremen started yelling at the distraction and the workers went back to their work. A glance at the cat walk above told her the group of leaders was still there, watching production and talking. She glanced at the machine nearest her, hating it and herself and every Lizard in the room.

Lately, it felt like her line of sight was obstructed as hell. She didn't know which way to look or what to believe. Her father had told her when that happened she should find a spotter.

_A spotter sees what you miss in the scope, Eyas. It's best to learn to do without. But if you need one and can find one, use it._

So, if she could have any spotter in the world, who would it be? Her father? Her mother?

She turned and looked at the machinery again. _Cooling apparatus_. It was all she could do not to say it out loud.

Like it had been sent by fate, a bell clanged somewhere. Lizards began putting down their tools. Above her, 'Master' leaned over the rails and yelled. "Food time. You stay in the pen. Or you get hurt." It wasn't a threat. It was an indication he considered her too stupid to walk around without supervision. Like an untrained puppy, or a very small child. She nodded fervently, and watching him walk away.

 _Cooling apparatus_. For the first time in weeks, she could see herself again—the person she'd thought she was—underneath the hate and shame, just a glimmer.

The first machine she opened was a mess of tubes and gears and wiring. At a different time in her life it might have been enough to make her give it up. What the hell did an alien cooling apparatus look like anyway? But she took a breath and tried to remember every lecture Charlie had ever given her, tucked away in a workshop. She found the main part of the motor, traced the tubes running from it and found the one that seemed to to nothing but pump fluid through the center of the machine. Not a lubricant, because it didn't grease anything. I had to be there as a heat sink. She loosened one end of it and smiled at the slow drip of greenish fluid that trickled out.

It was easier to find on the next one, easier still after that. In the half hour she was left alone she managed to sabotage about a dozen machines, a good half of the ones in the room. She was back in her seat in plenty of time for the Lizards to return.

 And for the first time since that awful, awful night she felt something resembling pride.

There was more than one way to fight.

*

Life in the trenches had ground on as they waited for one of the women to call for an extraction. Charlie tried to keep himself busy, and there was certainly plenty to do in his workshop. That night they'd gone hunting, they'd killed far more meat than the four of them could consume-- even with Thor's appetite, so a makeshift smokehouse was built.

Charlie Stark's Armor Maintenance and Bacon Storage Depot was the new name he'd given his building. He'd even killed one of the six boar himself.

He still had Anja's bow hanging over his work table. Clint had told him she'd want him to keep an eye on it. He still wasn't sure if he should be flattered or terrified. Mr. Barton was a very intimidating and scary man, who could shoot things Charlie couldn't even see. He'd shot a berry out of Steve's fingers the other day.

Charlie had come to the conclusion that neither of those men were really sleeping, and the longer time went on, the punchier they got.

He'd just gotten used to the smell of meat and seasoning permeating his space when there was a commotion in the yard he could hear from his building. Strolling out to see what the fuss was, he saw that the women had returned.

For a while he watched the hugging and greeting, and the crowd grew. He could see flashes of her hair, more vibrant than her mother's, and pick up the sound of her laughter. It had been a while since he'd heard Anja laugh. 

That, more than anything, drew him forward, into the crowd. He greeted a few of the Avenger agents he knew before finding the Bartons. Clint had one arm looped around Anja's waist, all but holding her off the ground, as she and Nat talked over each other in an attempt to tell some story or another. It was definitely the happiest he had seen any of them in a very long time. He realized then he had no right to intrude on their reunion and turned to go.

"Charlie!" he heard her call suddenly, like she'd just seen him. "You should thank him," she said to one or other of her parents. "It was his idea."

He turned back, startled. "What was my idea?" 

"Cooling apparatus!" she said proudly. 

"No shit." He slid a glance at her parents, not exactly champions of proper etiquette, granted, and it was a warfront. But his mother would have slapped his mouth and then washed it with soap.

None of them seemed to notice. Anja did claim to be able to swear in four languages, and she had to have gotten that from somewhere. She was still smiling at him. "There are some really terrible things coming, which I'm sure someone will tell you about, but I did get in there and muck them up. Said cooling apparatus piping is very poorly soldered."

He grinned widely. "Good for you. Just cleaning up the coolant will set them back days. And they still might have parts gumming up from the residue."

There was something very intense in her eyes when she looked at him just then. "Thank you."

Something else was going on, beyond just him telling her how to sabotage equipment. He had no idea what it was, though, and now didn't seem the time or place to pursue it. "You're welcome. Thanks for listening when I blather."

"Apparently it's useful after all," she replied. Clint had taken his arm off her to lean over and punch Steve in the shoulder, as it was looking like he and Jo were so involved in their kissing they'd forgotten they were in the middle of a crowd. The motion prompted Anja to come a little closer.

Which prompted him to blurt out, "I have your bow."

She smiled brightly. "Safe and sound?"

He'd expected a snarl at that. It was momentarily disorienting. She'd given him a lecture when she'd taught him to shoot about how no one touched her weapon, and lately she’d really had the cranky on full steam. On the other hand, her father had given it to him. "Hanging right on the wall."

She nodded. "Daddy said you all went hunting. You even shot a boar. Guess my lessons for you were not in vain."

Oh look, now her parents were kissing. She probably didn't want to see that. And then there was probably going to be a long and stressful debrief. No one was going to look forward to that. "Would you like to come retrieve it?" he asked her.

She glanced behind her, then immediately away. "Yes. I think now would be a good time for that. Before either they or Steve and Jo end up breaking decency laws."

He offered her his arm, like he had been taught in his god-awful etiquette classes. She smiled and shook her head and took it. She looked down, and ran her fingers over his arm hair. The light touch hit him like a punch in the stomach. It made him think suddenly about the first time he'd realized that little Anja Barton had breasts. He hadn't known where to look after that. It had spawned all sorts of thoughts he'd very ruthlessly suppressed. 

She was, however, oblivious; it was something he was grateful for. She looked up at him. "Wait until I tell you just how weird those lizards are."

The vaguely mischievous tone made him smile, settled his nerves a touch. Anja was back. The other women were back. There might be dark days on the horizon, but the atmosphere of the camp would be better. At least for a little while.

"I'm all ears," he told her sincerely, guiding her towards the workshop. 

She told him all about the Badoon's fascination with body hair. She told him about them making Jo and Sif fight in some sort of slimy goo, a mental image that made him laugh out loud. Then she told him about the tanks and the Black Sea, and they sat in silence, contemplating just how bad it was going to get. The war would soon become a much uglier fight. 

Later, he'd look back on that evening in his workshop as the high point of the grueling months that followed. It was bloody, exhausting, and they were constantly on the move.

They were also, as far as he could tell, slowly losing.

*

_September, 1915  
Munich, Germany_

Bea had been in Germany over a month, serving as her father's "nurse." That's what her mother called it, anyway. It had happened accidentally. She'd been visiting, to make her mother happy, when things became very complicated on the front. Loki no longer had time to ferry non combatants around. So she'd settled into her father's town home and set about making sure he ate and slept and didn't kill himself.

She knew everything was coming to a head now. The allied troops were holding the last spit of land between the Badoon and the ocean. Things looked bleak and there was nothing anyone could do about it. Her father tried to protect her from news, but she wasn't stupid and she heard plenty. She spent her nights and free time in a corner of an oft forgotten workshop, hammering together a project, just to keep herself occupied.

One afternoon, her four brothers—her remaining four brothers—showed up at the factory. It had been running around the clock for a massive engagement that was clearly coming. The suits the factory built were much more rudimentary than any of the Stark suits. There wasn't the time or money or training capacity to outfit the whole army in full ones. They were more like body armor.

The boys being here surprised her, especially when they had a meeting with their father she was not invited to. She only knew because Charlie told her about it beforehand, all but inviting her to eavesdrop.

It was in Papa's office, which she had spent more time in lately than he had. It shared an HVAC vent with the empty office next door. So, after the door closed, she went in there, pulled a chair under the vent and stood, head cocked, and could hear every word.

The Badoon were massing their troops. Something was happening very soon, and someone seemed to have decided that there was no more retreat. This had to be where they made their stand. They had to get the next shipment of suits on a train right now.

"I'm going to get my suit," Papa said.

Almost in unison the boys began to protest. "Dad, you had a heart attack a year ago. You can't possibly -" That was Rob, practical, logical, linear thinking Rob. Who, despite a lifetime of dealing with their father still thought reason would sway him.

"We can't let you do this." That was one of the little ones, she could never tell them apart by voice.

She noticed Charlie didn't say a word. He probably knew it was futile.

"I am not sitting here in Germany like an invalid," her father said, his voice like steel. "I've been doing this longer than most of you have been alive."

"Well, this is one way to stop." _That_ was Charlie. War had sharpened his sarcasm razor fine. Bea shifted on her chair. She knew they weren't going to dissuade him. None of the boys knew how to get to Papa like the girls did.

"They killed my son," he replied. "I am going to kill some of them."

There was a few heartbeats of total silence. Then Rob asked, sadly, "When are you leaving?"

"I want to see the last shipment out. Then I'll take the airship. You boys can get back to the front."

She stayed in the room as his office door opened and her brothers filed out. She waited until she was sure her father wasn't coming out, then left, heading down to her workshop. She had a lot to get done and not a lot of time to do it.

Miraculously, she made it—literally turning the the last screw as she heard the airship docking above.

She heard the clanking out in the larger workshop, and looked up a moment too late. Papa was standing in the doorway, wrench in his hand, staring like he'd seen a ghost. His faceplate was up, so she could literally see the color drain from his face. Her faceplate was down, and so it must look to him like his dead son was standing in front of him. 

She wasn't sure it would help any, but she lifted her faceplate so he could see she wasn't George. Based on the fact he actually got _paler_ it obviously didn't put him at ease. She was a little concerned he was going to have yet another heart attack and there wasn't an Asgardian to be seen. She took a breath and gestured to the wrench he was holding. "Need help?"

"Beatrice," he said, fixing her with a glare. But his color was returning. "What are you doing?"

"I'm coming with you. Obviously." Refuge in audacity was a proud Stark tradition.

"You are not—" She could see him become distracted from his bluster in the middle of the sentence. "Where did you get a suit? That looks like George's suit."

"It is." She patted the front. "I helped Charlie. . . retrieve it and fixed it up to fit me. Little fidgeting in the hips and gusset and some extra inner padding in the torso." She glanced at him. "What do you think I do when I'm not with you? Knit?"

"Maybe?" he said, even though she could tell it sounded ridiculous to his own ears. He came forward, circling her and looking at it with a critical eye. He whacked the chest plate with the wrench. "Fully functional?"

She was pleased that she didn't even feel the impact. "Of course. Plus I added a few mods to the flight stabilizers, based on things I found in one of your old note books. You know, you really should go back and look at old ideas once in a while."

He looked up at her, and he looked _impressed_. The last time he'd looked at her like that, she'd been seventeen years old, and had gone into his study in their house in New York with an arm full of paperwork. She'd explained, haltingly and full of fear, that she'd conducted a six-month campaign of letters that had finally convinced the faculty of MIT to make one of their rare exceptions, and admit a woman—if only he would permit her to go. He'd leaned back in his chair and stared so long she'd thought she might vomit. 

Then he'd smiled at her, and looked at her just like this. She thought there were times that he actually forgot she'd attended MIT and just lumped her in with the rest of the girls. But moments like this made up for those.

The smile faltered and he turned serious again. "You can't come to battle, Bea-Bea."

He only thought that because he hadn't considered all the angles. "If you leave me behind, the first thing I will do is cable Mama and tell her you went to the front."

His eyes narrowed. "You wouldn't."

 "I have the telegram written."

They sized each other up a moment. Then the impressed look came back. "Well. I'm probably going to die. Your mother can't kill me twice."

She fought the shock of sadness, of fear. Besides, she was pretty sure this was a negotiating tactic. Two heart attacks hadn't really robbed Tony Stark of his conviction he was immortal—no matter what her brothers said. "She can certainly contact Thor and Steve so they can meet the airship and lock you in the cargo hold."

That actually made him smile, and shake his head. As much as he could in the suit anyway. He handed her the wrench. "The bolt on my knee is loose."

And that was that. She fixed his knee and together they went up to the airship to head to the front lines. If possible, the boys handled her arrival with less grace than her father had. But she was there now, suited up, and it was obvious they needed all the help they could get.

* * *

To be continued in our next installment: _A Clear Line of Sight_


	4. A Clear Line of Sight

_Danube Fortifications, Eastern Romania_

The Badoon troops were massing. Loki was popping up and down the line, moving troops and bringing in select reinforcements. Anja was studying the perch that had been built for her with pleasure. It looked like a small medieval siege tower, elevating the marksmen inside above the hand fighting, with good visibility and mobile cover. They dotted up and down the line, and this one was hers to supervise. Her father had rather gruffly told her that they'd cover more ground with separate teams. It was an act of trust. Of adulthood.

Hers was much, much closer to the front lines, since she couldn't shoot nearly as far as he could. To a certain degree archery was about arm strength, and she'd never have the upper-body strength of a man. Charlie had begun making her special arrows to give her a different advantage. Some were poisoned. Many exploded, in different ways and timings. Some sprayed corrosive substances. (She had been disappointed the salt arrows didn't do anything. Lizards, unfortunately, were not slugs). They were all too heavy, too impactful on aerodynamics for the kind of distance her father shot for.

But Anja found them fantastic. So once she was done checking her nest, she went in search of the mobile workshop, to see if he was done with the last of her tiny bombs. She found Charlie there, ratcheting himself into his Iron Man suit with particular intensity. He looked up when she cleared her throat, but he didn't give her his usual smile. "Arrows?" he asked.

"Yes, please." She paused. "Are you all right?"

"Not really." He gave up on whatever he was tweaking, tossing the tool aside. "My father showed up. In his suit, insisting on going to the front lines. Bea is with him. In George's suit."

"I'm sorry about your father," she said. "That's reckless, but predictable." She paused. "But you tell Bea I said good for her, good luck, and to kick Lizard ass."

"She shouldn't be there."

"Why? Because she's a girl? Well, so am I. And I'm going to be in a wooden box a dozen yards behind the front line."

"But that's what you were _taught_ ," he protested. "Your whole life. Not Bea. She was taught deportment and dancing and then she went to MIT." He sat down, awkward in his suit, on the low workbench. "I said I wanted her here. But I meant here. In this shop. Helping build stuff. Not in the suit George died in trying to get shot."

"Your father knew jack shit about war before he put on the very first suit. She's really smart, Charlie." She paused, wondering if it was sacrilege to say this. "She's smarter than George."

He snorted a little. "She added mods to the suit. Stuff Dad thought would make it too heavy, she did it in a half equipped workshop in a month. You ever tell anyone this I'll rig your arrows to spray you with skunk scent but she might be smarter than Dad." He looked up at her. "Smart people die just as easy as dumb ones."

She had an instant, terrible flash of memory. The moment she realized someone she thought was her friend wasn't listening to her tell him to stop. And there had been _nothing_ she could do about it. She tried hard to shake it off. "She's encased in a well armed steel suit that flies. She's safer and more capable of protecting herself than I have _ever_ been."

That stopped him. He stared at her a moment, face going from anguished to thoughtful to determined in the span of a few seconds. Then he got up and went to the corner of the lab, before coming back with an armload of metal. "Here. Put this on."

It was his uru-plated espionage suit. "I'm smaller than you. And, you know, differently shaped. It's not going to fit."

"I'll get Thor and his hammer. Just start getting into it. The limbs won't need much altering." He left the suit on the table and stalked towards the door, apparently to start looking for Thor.

She stared after him. "If you're giving out suits, there are certainly more deserving recipients."

His shoulders tightened and he half turned. "Maybe. But it's my suit. And I'm choosing to give it to you. For once, please don't argue with me."

The contrariness was like a compulsion. She couldn't stop it. "I don't take orders from you." And her head was so screwed up right now, she wasn't sure which way was up sometimes. She missed the way they used to be, before the war. She missed when she was the sort of person who would happily, unthinkingly take all the best toys. When she was sure she deserved them.

"Do you report to anyone? We're not exactly running on regulations here, Anja." He threw his arms out in frustration. "We're fighting lizard people from outer space who want our women. We're about to make a last stand in which my father and probably most of the people we know will not see the end of. Do you really, honestly, want our last conversation to be you being willfully obstinate? Or could you, for once, think about my peace of mind and put on the goddamned suit?"

"This is _not_ our last conversation." But she did start putting on the suit.

He turned without a reply and left the tent.

It didn't take him and Thor very long to get the suit altered. There had to be better things for the both of them to do, right before their most important battle, but she wasn't going to talk Charlie out of it. It was more comfortable than she expected, with full range of motion. It actually flattened her breasts extremely well, which would help her draw.

Charlie’s face had 'I told you so' all over it, but he at least didn't actually say it.

Thor left while he did the last adjustments. He nodded, pleased with himself. "I guess we should get out there."

She touched his suit, brushing off imaginary dust. "Before going into, well, anything, my father always reminds me to keep a clear line of sight. Seems like good advice for flying, too."

He smiled a little and nodded as best he could. "Thanks. My dad has never been much for motivational speeches. So I'll just say good luck."

"See you on the other side," she told him. Whatever side that might be. "I'll have my arrows aimed at the back of your head as usual."

"I find that extremely reassuring."

Anja gave him a salute, collected her arrows, and then turned and headed back to the front. 

She was climbing in her perch when her father came by to check on her. He inspected her gear and then eyed the suit. "What is that?"

It took all she had not to glance down at herself. "Charlie's black ops suit." She shrugged awkwardly, still not entirely sure how he'd talked her into it. "He insisted."

He leaned over and kissed the top of her head. "Good." He straightened. "Where is he?"

"He headed to the front of the lines. With his brothers. And dad. And Bea."

"Tony's an idiot. But a brave one." He nodded at her perch. "I'll be back, but you can load up."

"Where are you going?"

"I just want to talk to Charlie for a second."

Really, now? He was going to do this _now_?"Daddy—"

He put his bow down beside her. "See, I'm not armed. I'll be right back."

"You are always armed!" She called after him, but he'd disappeared into the crowd. She rubbed her brow, vowing to apologize to Charlie when the battle was over. She closed her eyes, tuning out the noise of thousands of voice. Breathing slowly, calming her pulse, getting centered. It was nice being up high again. Clarity came with distance, sometimes. She could see the whole field from her perch, watch out for the people she wanted to protect.

Her father came back for his bow, and a hug. Her mother did the same. She wouldn't be able to see either of them, both further back than her. One because of command responsibilities, the other so he could shoot for distance. 

She watched, and she shot, as the armies crashed into each other. She watched Steve and Jo off to her left. To her right she could see The Other One—the green monster she really couldn't comprehend had emerged from her soft-spoken Uncle Bruce. Darting in the air above her, she could see Thor, and Charlie and his family. She picked out the suit that was his, and kept an eye on its location.

The battle seemed to be going well. Not that they were winning. But they were certainly holding fast and not giving ground. Then she watched what she was certain was Charlie's suit get hit with a mortar and go down behind the Lizard lines.

Panic. Fear. Grief. For a moment it overwhelmed her, and collapsing on the floor to sob seemed like the only thing to do. She fought it back. Calm. Cold. Until she was still the entire way through. She was wearing a God damn Iron Man suit. Before she could think it through, she slung her bow over her shoulder, grabbed her gun and knife, and climbed down out of her perch.

The ground was chaos, so different from the peace of her perch. She waded through, taking pot shots with the gun as she headed towards where he had fallen. One managed to get through her defenses and slash her face. It was the last thing he ever did.

Blood was in her eye-- she kept wiping it, and more came. That was very bad for her line of sight. She did however, see green out of her peripheral vision. She reached for it, grabbing ahold of Loki's coat. He looked startled at her probably very bloody face, but she didn't have time for that. She pointed in the correct direction. Her sense of orientation was impeccable. "Charlie went down." She knew he'd put Loki's magic locators in the suit. She got a curt nod, and he vanished.

Another Lizard came at her, then another. Why were there so many of them? God damn it, she couldn't _see_. She wiped her eye again, and then saw a strange, curved blade take his head clean off, like a guillotine. She took a moment to register Jo apparently wielding the sword. That was new. "Hey, thanks." A shadow passed above them, and instinct got her to yell, "Duck!"

An entire tank flew above them, upside down. The Other One really was something else. When she looked up, the fray had swallowed Jo and Steve, and she was again alone. Now that Loki was on the case she probably didn't need to push her way towards Charlie. Still, she was down here and it was closer than her perch.

She was preoccupied with her fighting, though she saw the green flare go up, Loki calling for Syn. He had to be alive, they wouldn't call her if he was dead. Getting back was another matter.

Suddenly light split the sky, and, like a miracle from heaven, Asgard arrived.

* * *

To be continued in our next installment _Pep Talks Great And Small_


	5. Pep Talks Great and Small

It was only when the pain and dizziness receded under Syn's magic healing glow that Charlie was able to process what had just happened.

The explosion, the terrifying fall from the sky—he pushed back a sudden wave of panic at the memory—then the golden army, people cheering, an old one-eyed man on a horse appearing. Gramps had given Loki a glowing blue box, which he then turned the color of, and now he and Thor were fighting with ice and lighting. Everyone around him was screaming and cheering.

The old man and his horse had ridden off with Syn. Steve and Jo were kissing, and it sounded like getting married.

Charlie was still sitting there in the mud, looking at his now-naked left leg, skin smooth though he could still feel remembered ghosts of the pain. Which was about when Anja slid through the mud and crashed right into him.

He managed to lift an arm and wrap it around her to steady her. He couldn't hold in the little "Oof," of the air being knocked from his lungs. "Hello," he said when he caught his breath again.

The right side of her face was covered in blood, from a nasty cut on her forehead."You're alive! Are you all right? I saw Loki had you so Syn must have fixed you—what happened to your leg?" She ran her hands over his thigh like she was looking for some mystery injury that had been overlooked. For a second it was all he could pay attention to.

"Uh, I - I'm fine. Syn fixed me up. Said she was going to go find Banner. I'm a little confused as to the events of the last ten minutes, but I think I'm all right." He didn't need to tell her about the fall and the crash and the few moments surrounded by the enemy. After a few rounds of what he assumed would be celebratory liquor he was pretty sure he didn't need to think about any of that either. When she looked up at him again, her eyes were earnest, and full of tears. Swallowing was suddenly hard. He reached up to touch her bloody face. "What were you doing out there?"

Her cheeks turned red, like she was fully aware of the foolishness of what she was about to say. "I was coming to rescue you."

He had to grin at that. "Seriously?"

"I'm not kidding about watching your back, you know, and some crazy guy gave me this alien metal suit, so. . ." She shrugged. "I told you, that was not the last conversation we were going to have."

"Yes. There will be many petty arguments to come." He could not stop grinning. This was probably the happiest he had ever been. He didn't know it it was relief the war appeared to be done, euphoria from the endorphins that were surely pumping through his system, or pleasure that she had come down from her nest to come save him. Whatever it was, he found himself lifting a hand, cupping the back of her head and dragging her down for a kiss.

He'd done it without forethought, so didn't think about her reaction until it was happening. She didn't slap him, she didn't even stiffen. She seemed to want to kiss him as much as he did her. She was probably as amped up as he was. It didn't matter. For a moment there, nothing mattered. Nothing existed, but the two of them.

Then, dimly, he heard the clank of a suit and released her, struggling to sit up before whichever family member was approaching reached them. 

His father raised his faceplate. "See? I am 100% completely not at all dead."

"Syn had to repair a blood vessel in his head," Bea said indignantly from behind him.

"This one hovered over me like a mother hen the whole battle." Dad crouched down, seemingly not noticing or caring that Anja was in Charlie's lap. "We're all accounted for."

A fresh flood of relief filled him. "That's excellent news." He leaned over to look at Bea. "How was your first run in the suit?"

She touched a scorched spot on her side and winced. "Corsets will be very unpleasant for a while."

"You should have Syn look it." He glanced at Anja. "And so should you."

"People are congregating back in the main tent," Bea said, pointing. "The boys were headed to the armory to get the suits off. You coming?" she added to Charlie.

Anja finally climbed out of his lap, and she and Bea both held down hands to pull him up. "My face is way worse than it looks," Anja said. "And there are real wounded for Syn to deal with."

"Agreed," Bea said. 

Charlie looked at them, realizing with a start that they were kind of. . . similar. Two red-haired, left-handed, smart-mouthed women. This was Romania, he was pretty sure that legally made you a witch.

His father seemed to notice his face. He clapped him on the shoulder. "Come on, kid. Lets go get you out of that. You look ridiculous with only one leg on."

He nodded, feeling a little stunned. "Yeah, good idea." His father steered him towards the armory. He heard Anja and Bea exchange a few words, then the clank of his sister following them.

His brothers were all there already, half out of their suits. He and Dad joined them, though Charlie needed help getting the remains of his leg piece off. The rest of them seemed perfectly content, for the moment, to sit around in their long johns. Since the left leg of his had also been removed, Charlie went in search of actual clothes. He could hear them talking out there, discussing the universal consensus that the war would be over soon. Apparently none of the boys out there was ever going to wear a suit again.

"We'll leave that to Charlie," Sam said.

"Charlie's fearless," Will concurred.

The words shouldn't have made him sick, filling his mouth with a sour taste. Fearless. That was the last word he would use. For a moment he was smothered, hands everywhere on him, clutching at his suit. He couldn't breathe -

The door of the storage room opened and Bea came in, her helmet tucked under her arm, dark hair wet with sweat and sticking to her face and neck. She stopped and looked at him, mouth open, as if she'd been about to say something and thought better of it after seeing his face. He lowered his head, taking deep breaths, bracing for questions and concern.

She came over to sit next to him on the work bench, suit clanking. She started wiggling off her glove and gauntlet. "They informed me undressing in front of them was unseemly," she told him in the driest voice possible. He knew her well enough to hear the bitterness underneath the snark.

He glanced at her now bare hand. "What are you wearing under that?" he asked, grateful for a change of topic.

"Drawers and one of Papa's undershirts with a battle brassiere underneath." She made a face, pulling the other gauntlet off. "I tried to adjust the suit to support them but it was impractical." She looked over at him. "The other boys don't understand. Neither do the girls, for that matter, but that seems to be a cross I bear alone. Their brains don't work like ours do, smart as they are. They see the world differently and therefore don't see us properly. We're Other. Especially to the younger ones."

He sat down to help her take the suit off. It was always easier to remove if you weren't in it. "You held your own today," he told her.

"Thank you," she said softly. "I can't say it was fun. But I see why Papa did it when he was younger."

"He's got a lot of daredevil in him." He pulled off the chest piece, pleased the damage hadn't made it inside. "Do you think your ribs are broken?"

She shifted uncomfortably, then took a deep breath. "No, I don't think so. Bruised, maybe."

"I'll see if I can find you some ice." They got the last of the suit off. 

"I saw you gave Anja your favorite suit," she commented as she stretched gingerly.

He didn't look at her, busying himself sorting her suit pieces. Bea wasn't the most socially aware person on the planet, but she wasn't stupid and he didn't know what she'd see in his face. "No one else was using it. It only took a little adjusting."

"I was surprised. You don't seem to get along all that much."

That did make him look up. "Anja and I? We're good friends. Why would you say that?"

She blinked in obvious confusion. "You yell at each other all the time. Call each other names. She'd given you more black eyes than any of the brothers."

He sighed. He supposed he could see how that looked. And maybe that was a good thing, that it wasn't as obvious as he thought it was. Though, Bea not picking up on undercurrent didn't exactly say much. She was always more interested in her work than those around her. "We just push each other’s buttons. But we can be honest. I've never worried about offending her. There aren't any rules."

Her expression of confusion, then dawning understanding, while she processed that was kind of funny. "Like us?" she asked, obviously for clarification. His face must have registered horror at that, because she hastily added. "Only not. Because there's no biological bond."

"Yes." It was the simplest answer. At least that confirmed she hadn't seen them kissing.

Charlie couldn't believe he'd actually done that. A moment of temporary insanity, surely.

Bea crouched to rummage in the box of spare clothes he'd been looking through. "What do you supposed will happen now?"

"We get to go home." That seemed impossible, and on another planet. "Sleep in our own beds. Any real bed at all, really. Go back to our lives."

"Hmph." Her little noise told him exactly what she thought of that. She stood, tossing him a pair of pants before stepping into some herself. "Back to corsets and dresses and Mama begging me to find a suitor and telling me I'm an old maid in the same breath."

"I think you should ignore her, go back to MIT and finish your thesis." He looked up. "I know Mama thinks a doctorate is going to make you formally and officially unmarriagable. You should do it anyway."

"I intend to," she said, bending to scoop up a shirt to button over her undershirt. "And I imagine she's right about it making me unmarriable. But she has all the other girls to produce grandchildren for her, so she'll get over my absence eventually." She took the ties out of her hair and shook it out. "Evie is pregnant. Again."

"That will push the grandchildren count to twenty-one." He looked up. "Dad's out of fingers and toes to count them on. I foresee disharmony and disaster at Christmas."

"He's going to need to start buying toys in bulk," she agreed. "Really, having one spinster is to his benefit."

There was a knock on the door, and his father stuck his head in. "Charlie. Natasha wants us to come up for a meeting. Apparently."

Charlie stifled a sigh. He'd hoped he could have some time alone. Or, at the very least, away from his father and his friends. Maybe convince Anja to raid her father's stash and introduce Bea to tequila. "All right. I'm coming."

*

When Steve and Jo decided to throw an impromptu wedding in the middle of their meeting, complete with magically-obtained food, flowers, and formalwear, Anja got swept up in the surreality of it. It was romantic, and she was wearing a dress for the first time in at least a year—not counting the lizard outfits.

But the dress reminded her of home. It should have been a comforting thought, but it wasn't. If anything, it filled her with panic. That person she used to be. . . she didn't even know her anymore. 

Charlie sat next to her the whole time. They didn't touch, but they bantered like everything was normal. It was soothing-- joking about Loki's blue skin, and the ridiculous Asgardian helmets. It felt like something they both needed.

When the vows had been said and the toasts raised, Loki offered to take Steve and Jo wherever they wanted to go. The rest of them slowly dispersed, probably to their own private celebrations or to start planning their next steps. She found herself alone with Charlie, walking aimlessly through the camp, too excited to call it a night.

He tipped his head back, looking at the stars. "I can't believe it's over."

"You look good in that suit," she replied, because _over_ was too impossible a concept.

"Yeah. My brothers have unanimously nominated me to continue wearing it."

"I see many fancy Stark parties in your future." She looked up at him. "I'm sorry if my father hassled you before the battle. I tried to stop him. He's just. . . overprotective and suspicious."

"He didn't," Charlie said. He paused so a couple of drunk soldiers could stagger by. "He thanked me for giving you the suit, and asked me to take care of you if he died."

She blinked at him, speechless for a moment. She'd been so sure her father was going off to assert his dominance. It had never occurred to her. . . "What did you say?"

He cleared his throat. "That I would be honored to do so."

Well, what had she expected, really? She'd climbed out of her perch when she thought he was hurt. She hadn't really thought it was one sided. Certainly not after that kiss. "Thank you," she said quietly, feeling the need to acknowledge it somehow. 

"We bonded while you were off spying. We hunted meat." She watched him smile, struck by the hilarious mental image of him and her father, in a tree with bows. They were so very opposite. "And I would have looked out for you even if he hadn't asked."

"Yeah, I know." They walked in silence for a few steps. "I don't think I'm ready to go back," she said quietly, voicing the doubt that had started to form during the wedding preparations. She still wore the conjured dress and it felt more and more wrong the longer she did so.

He stopped walking, and looked at her. She stopped, and turned back, afraid of the lecture she might be about to get. Then he reached out and took her hand. "Come on."

If it were anyone on earth other than Charlie, it probably would have triggered the panic. But she was all right to let him lead her, cutting through tents and groups of people sitting around and drinking, until they reached his workshop. Every time he moved it to a different place on the front, its exterior got more beaten looking. It actually didn't entirely look structurally sound, but she had faith in his engineering skills. Inside every surface was covered with pieces of disassembled suits. 

He'd waited until it they were alone to ask her. "You're not all right, are you?"

The instinct to lie was immediate, automatic. But she swallowed it down and just shook her head. "Not really. No."

She watched something settle over his features. Whatever it was, it was bad, and it wasn't about her. He wasn't all right, either. She reached up to touch his jaw, her fingertips running over the stubble there. "Maybe it's not going to be over as easy as I'd hoped," he said finally.

"I don't think it will be," she agreed, feeling sad, for him as well as her. "Maybe not for anyone. I don't think Steve and Jo decided to get married today because they're particularly impulsive people. I think they needed it to be over. They needed the ceremony to move on. But I think things like this don't ever go away, really." God knew she'd be carrying things with her the rest of her life.

His eyes searched her face. "You think staying here will help that? What will you do?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. Help rebuild? There's a lot of destroyed towns and churned up fields and displaced refugees. Someone's going to have to help clean that up." As she said it, the idea seemed to settle on her heart and take root. She could do that. Help people. She no longer trusted her strength, or her ability to fight, but she thought she could build. Plow a field, organize a refugee camp. That seemed doable.

His face was unreadable, and she was afraid he was going to tell her she was nuts again. Instead, he swallowed and said, "You're really good at organizing things. And if you can herd your mother, you can herd anyone."

She couldn't help smiling, even though she could hardly believe her ears. "You really think so?"

"Of _course_ I do." He said it with such certainty, as if it was the only option. As if she couldn't fail. She felt a little more of her doubt and pain ease. She was still far from all right. Sometimes she thought all right was never going to happen, but she was getting there. Bit by hard won bit.

If Charlie Stark believe in her than she could do it. That could carry her until she believed in herself again.

She nodded firmly. "Then that's what I'll do."

After a moment, he reached out and took her hand. "When you come home. . ."

She swallowed hard, dreading his next words. She was in no place to start something. To even make promises about starting something. But, oh, she didn't want to hurt him. Not when he'd given her so much without even realizing it. "How about we talk about it when it happens?" she asked softly.

He turned her hand, and lifted it to very gently kiss her rather bruised knuckles, like he was a knight in shining armor and she was a damsel in a white dress. Like she was precious. "That's exactly what I was going to say."

For an awful moment, she thought she might cry. He was so sweet, far more than she had ever deserved. But the urge passed and she squeezed his hand. "Then we have reached an accord."

* * *

**End Part One**

* * *

To be continued in our next installment: _Secret Weapons and Speakeasy Spying_


	6. Secret Weapons and Speakeasy Spying

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Part Two**
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  _Here was a new generation, shouting the old cries, learning the old creeds, through a revery of long days and nights; destined finally to go out into that dirty gray turmoil to follow love and pride; a new generation dedicated more than the last to the fear of poverty and the worship of success; grown up to find all Gods dead, all wars fought, all faiths in man shaken. . . ._  
>  F. Scott Fitzgerald

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the lateness. I am dealing with a lot of family stuff lately, plus with the holiday this week time got away from me.
> 
> Happy Thanksgiving to our American readers and happy Thursday to all the rest. Everyone stay safe out there.

_New York City  
October 1921_

Charlie Stark's life had never been normal. To start with, he was Tony Stark's son, which should have been enough weirdness for anyone. When he was six his life had been saved by the healing magic of a woman from another realm. When he was eighteen, he had gone to work for a shadowy government organization specializing in the extraordinary. At twenty-five he'd gone to war against alien lizard people.

And now, at just shy of thirty-two, weapon prototypes had begun appearing in his lab.

"Could you at least make them less girly?" he asked his sister when she finished demonstrating the sleeping-powder compact she'd delivered that morning.

"Over forty percent of your agents are women. They need weapons they can easily carry and conceal."

He gave her a look. "I think most of that is the typing pool."

"They're privy to sensitive material and could be a target for enemies of the organization." It was damn near impossible to argue with Bea. She'd already thought of everything you could possibly say.

There was the click of heels out in the front part of the lab. He was pretty certain he could tell who it was by the sound of her walk, and, as expected, Anja's voice came. "Charlie? You back there?"

"She'll like it," Bea muttered.

"Yeah!" he called out, rolling his eyes at his sister. "In the back. Watch your step."

She clicked her way back to wear he could see her, and he was startled to see the beaded head piece, red lipstick, and fur coat. But it made him smile, as there was very little in his world quite as arresting as Anja Barton in her battle gear. "I need your help. Hello, Bea."

"Would you find a compact full of soporific powder useful?" Bea asked in reply. He worried sometimes her social skills were getting worse. She worked with normal people at Barnard, didn't she? Surely she engaged in conversation with them.

"I would. Do you have anything else like it? I have a problem." She took the fur off and draped it over a chair. The dress she had on underneath it. . . he was pretty certain ten years ago it would have registered as 'underwear'. It hung off tiny straps from her shoulder, and was couple of fluttery layers of blue and silver fabric that clung to her and stopped halfway down her calf—but when she walked he could see flashes of more leg beneath the layers. It was mesmerizing.

Anja hadn't noticed he was staring like a twelve year old who'd come across his first naughty photo. "It's too hot for the coat, regardless of what costuming says. Do you have any idea how I might arm this getup?"

"Where in hell are you going undercover?" he asked, embarrassed at how high his voice got. He cleared his throat a few times but for the life of him could not stop staring. At least he resisted asking if her father knew she was going out like that.

"A high end purveyor of illicit liquids and gambling." She did a turn. There was even less to the back. "It french couture, apparently. Lillian bought it in Paris when she went to buy her debutante wardrobe, and your mother wouldn't let her wear it. So now it's mine." 

Charlie remembered something about there being dress drama. Their youngest sister was a little. . .wild, and one of their other sisters had gone on the ceremonial dress purchasing pilgrimage because Mama hadn't been well. All of the Stark sisters had a Paris wardrobe except for Bea, who'd done her socialite rounds under duress, and had proclaimed that there were plenty of perfectly good dressmakers in New York. He'd kind of admired the petty rebellion.

"Papa had to convince her not to burn it," Bea commented. "Are you wearing a garter?"

Charlie turned so Anja couldn't see his face and _glared_ at his sister. This was bad enough. He did not need to be thinking about garters.

"I am. I do have stockings on, though they are wildly sheer." She came around the table and said, "Avert your eyes," and started pulling up the side of her dress.

"Jesus," he muttered and turned his back for his own sanity.

Bea moved past him, apparently to inspect the garter. "This should do," she said and he swore he heard fabric rustle. "I have a small gun that's light enough the garter will hold it up. Only holds two bullets, but it should be enough to get out of a tough situation. I hadn't brought it over since men seem squeamish about the idea of garters and other women's underthings. Oh! Are you wearing a brassiere? I can hide all kinds of things in that."

Charlie covered his eyes with a hand. Maybe turning around had been a bad idea. His imagination was filling things in quite nicely.

"Yes, but we had to bind them on top of that, to fit the dress. Maybe a small knife could fit down there? Nothing like what my mother could get in her corset." Anja sighed. "She used to tell me about being able to hide grenades in her bustle." 

There was more fabric movement. He was not going to picture his sister peering down Anja's bosom. He just wasn't.

"I have a flat blade you could fit in there. I assume you'll carry a purse. I have the compact. A lighter that can become a small flame thrower. And I'm working on a lipstick that is a spring loaded projectile. Not as effective as a bullet, but disorienting if it hits you in the head. And it breaks glass."

"That's amazing," she said, sounding awed. "Does my mother know about this stuff?"

"No. Charlie thinks it's too girly. People will suspect it's not from him."  "I _hope_ they would suspect it," he said over his shoulder.

Anja leaned over and smacked him in the back of the head, so hard it hurt. 

"Ow!" He rubbed and decided if she was hitting him he was looking. He turned to find her tugging her skirt primly into place. As prim as one could in a skirt that short. "I'd just as soon let her work here," he said. "It's not my fault the politics in our family are insane."

"He's right," Bea admitted. "Mama tolerates the teaching because it's still a feminine pursuit, apparently. But she spent so much time and effort into making us ladies, I don't think she'd handle me wanting to come here full time very well."

"So she just steals workspace and invents stuff on the sly."

"And no one would ever believe you made things that might keep an agent who had to go into a dangerous situation in a skimpy silk dress alive."

He shrugged and picked up a ratchet to play with, tossing it from hand to hand. "One or two things, maybe. But not the arsenal she's cooked up."

"Besides, if Papa got a hold of them he'd know it was me and not Charlie. Welds and soldering are like fingerprints if you know what you're looking for." Bea picked up her own tool to fidget with. "And Charlie's never had the patience for little fiddly stuff like the lipstick."

Anja blew air through her nose slowly, the only outward sign that she was angry. "So then I'll be lying in my report?"

He hated making Anja angry. Not just because she tended to hit him when she was upset. "You could refer to her as an independent contractor?" The glare Anja gave him should have stopped his heart. It was looking at her mother and father pissed at him at the same time. He actually took a step back.

"I'll make the lying worth your while," Bea offered. "The new trend in lavallières has opened up all manner of weaponry opportunities."

Anja closed her eyes and tipped her head back. Her hair was short, barely covering her ears. He liked it, but every once in a while he thought about when it had been long. It had always been put up or braided, but he liked to imagine it lose. Dangerous trains of thought.

"No one needs to know I didn't wear the fur," she said finally. "With all its pockets."

"You're a paragon of compromise, Anja," he told her. "How long is the op running? Just tonight?"

"I'm just doing a look-see right now. Depending on how it pans out, could be anything."

"I will redouble my efforts on the necklace weapons," Bea assured her. 

"When did the Avengers start carrying about speakeasies?" Charlie asked. "Your mother's reaction to the Volstead Act was to complain that as soon as men let women play with their toys they promptly started breaking them."

"And to let my father stock the cellar with 30 cases of Mexican tequila," Anja added. "There's something fishy going on at this particular one. A string of patrons dying unexpectedly. Many of them, er, serious people."

"Mob?" he asked. "Or legitimate serious people?"

"Legitimate. The gangsters can handle their own dead perfectly fine. Though it's likely as not they _run_ this joint. Determining that is one of my objectives."

"I'd be stunned if you find they didn't. Pretty sure Prohibition is the best thing to happen to the Five Families since they came to these shores."

"Unintended consequences and all." She picked up her fur. "Though I don't entirely agree with my mother. I met plenty of women in the suffrage movement who had very legitimate reasons for believing alcohol was the root of all evil in their lives. I think the problem would be better solved by letting them divorce their drunk husbands and earn their own living, of course. Sad it got turned upside down so fast."

"Life would go smoother if people would remember Newton's laws," Bea said from her corner.

They looked over at her. Charlie had almost forgotten she was there. That happened a lot. He wasn't sure if that said more about him or Bea. "What do you mean?"

She glanced up. "Newton's laws. For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. Women get the vote, women's issues get voted on. Liquor is outlawed, criminals sell alcohol. People don't think about the consequence when they decide to change the world."

"What consequence do you think letting women divorce and work would have?" Anja asked, shrugging the fur on.

Bea's jaw tightened a little and for an instant she looked like their father when he was angry. "World peace." She scooped up her briefcase. "I'll drop the rest of my prototypes off after class." She nodded to Charlie and Anja and headed out the door.

Anja glanced over at Charlie. "Did I offend her?"

He shook his head. "It wasn't you. She likes you. She's just. . . unhappy. Pressure at home, sexism at work. If she was a man she'd have taken this job from me years ago. But she's not and she's torn between what she wants to do and what's expected of her."

"You're really good at your job, Charlie. I also know you need help." She shrugged. "I can't help the Stark politics, but it's unlikely you'll find someone more willing to consider a female engineer and scientist than my mother." 

He sighed. "I know. And I've thought about it. Talking to Nat and going behind Dad's back. But Bea's right about thinking of consequences. She doesn't want to upset our parents and it's not my place to do it for her." Much as he would love the help and time off. "She'll reach a breaking point eventually and, well, that'll be an interesting day."

"She is a Stark. Tell her I said thanks for the gear. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Will do. Good luck with the spying." She was far easier to talk to in the fur. 

She dipped into a little curtsey, and sauntered out.

*

The speakeasy hadn't been all that hard to get into. The standard assumptions about her gender that so irritated Charlie's sister were often something she could manipulate to her advantage. A pretty girl in a revealing dress spawned a certain impression, and she let them think what they wished. So now she was at the bar, waiting to order a drink.

It was an upscale place, the kind that would have served Scotch and Whiskey older than her parents if it had been a legitimate establishment. She recognized some faces from the society page in the crowd. It was still early, so the crowd was present but not crushing. She smiled prettily at the bartender when he made his way over to her.

He looked her up and down. "What can I get for you?"

"What's good that won't rot my stomach?" she asked with a grin.

The man smiled. "I'll make you a cocktail."

"Thank you." He stood near her as he mixed it. She made a show of scanning the room again. "It always this dead?" she asked. "I didn't expect breathing room."

"Well, it's just the lobby."

She arched her brows. "Oh, really? There's more rooms?"

"Absolutely. But they are by invitation only."

"Aw." She pouted a little. "How does a girl get an invitation to the fun stuff?"

He shrugged easily. "You need to be Someone. Or with Someone."

She nodded slowly, reeling the pout in as he put her drink down. That complicated things a bit. There were plenty of Someones around. She could almost certainly find one to attach herself to. But not without going a bit farther in this endeavor than she was willing. Which left her with a bit of a conundrum.

What she needed, she realized, was to borrow a Someone. A man with a socially prominent name, and preferably lots of money.

She was embarrassed how long it took for the obvious answer to smack her in the face.

* * *

To be continued in our next installment: _A Chip off the Old Block_


	7. A Chip off the Old Block

"You want me to _what?!_ "

Anja sighed and watched Charlie pace the length of his work bench. "I need you to come to the speakeasy with me and throw your money and name around so I can get in the secret back rooms."

"I do not do undercover ops," he replied. "I run the workshop and lab. I build things. That's what I do."

"You're also Iron Man," she pointed out.

"I am not Iron Man," he said with far too much vehemence for the conversation they were having. "My dad is. I work the lab."

"I'm not asking you to put the suit on," she said gently, aware she'd found a land mine of some sort. "I just need you to dress up pretty and play big roller. You're playing yourself, maybe with a little of your dad mixed in. I'll do all the work."

He at least seemed to be considering it. "With you hanging off my arm in a pretty dress?"

"Absolutely. It'll be fun. Ninety percent of it is mingling and having fun like a normal party." She went around the bench. "Please, Charlie."

He studied her a moment, then groaned. "You're using your wiles, aren't you? I'm powerless against the wiles, you know that."

Anja smiled at him. She didn't want to turn any of her 'wiles' on him. It made her think about things from long ago. About a childhood crush. About a kiss, about who she used to be, about everything the war took from her. "No," she said softly. "I just need your help."

They eyed each other another moment, then he sighed. "All right, all right. I'll come. When are we doing this?"

She clapped her hands in victory. "Tomorrow night. Black tie. I need to go find another dress."

He might have groaned again. "All right. Where should I pick you up?"

"My house. I'll keep Daddy in line." Her grin widened. "Bring the Duesy."

"Of course." He sounded offended. "We do this, we're doing it right."

*

The dress Anja got for this adventure was a little less ostentatious than the last one. She wasn't advertising availability anymore. Now she'd be seen as taken, and a very expensive but more covering dress would indicate that her gentleman valued her. That she was not a one-time whore, but more likely his mistress. It was a subtle difference, but her mother had taught her a lot about the messages you could convey with wardrobe.

"What do you think?" she said when Nat came to check on her. "Does this dress say 'I'm for sale but not to you'?"

Her mother studied her carefully, gesturing for her to turn. "Yes. I think it does nicely." She stepped close to tuck some of Anja's hair back, smoothing it down. "Charlie's ready for this?"

"He does society things all the time. HIs mother brought him up to be a proper gentleman."

"Oh, I know. I mean the spying. He's resisted field work."

"I did pretty good on my first op." She dug around on the top of her vanity for earrings. "He doesn't need to spy. Just get me in the door."

Nat looked unconvinced, but she seemed to let it go, leaning a hip on the side of the vanity. "Well. Good luck. We won't wait up."

Anja nodded, and then found herself saying, "We take care of each other. Charlie and I. We'll be fine."

"I know you will. It's always good to have someone you trust at your six. It's a rare thing in our line of work."

That made her smile. "Is it?"

"I've found it to be. We partner people up, of course. But real trust, trust you don't have to think about? That's important. I've been lucky to find as many as I did. I'm glad you have someone you feel that way about."

Someone she'd charge out into a battlefield for. "I'll try not to be out too late."

Nat kissed her cheek. "You do what you need to do. I'll drug your father's tequila so he actually sleeps." In the distance, the doorbell rang. "That must be that Stark hooligan."

"Ginger. Ginger Stark hooligan," she replied with a grin.

"Well, Ginger hooligans are the worst," her mother agreed.

Anja headed downstairs, her mother at her heels. Charlie was in the foyer with her father, having what appeared to be a civil conversation. His formalwear was perfect, and he looked so dashing it stopped her in her tracks. "Hello," he said, looking up. "Nice dress."

"Thanks," she said softly. She didn't think she'd ever seen him so dressed up. Maybe when they were kids and he was in one of his sibling's weddings. But that was a long time ago. She cleared her throat. "Nice tux."

"I brought the car," he told her. "My father fussed over this more than he does over my sisters when they have male callers."

She hopped down the last few steps and took her fur and purse from the rack. "Well, he has spare daughters."

"Have fun tonight, kids," her father said. She was twenty-five, but she'd probably be a kid to her father until she had gray hair.

Charlie nodded to her parents and offered her his arm. She took it with a smile and waved goodbye as he lead her down the front steps. It did feel oddly like a proper date. "That went smoother than I'd feared." His family's bright red, brand new Duesenberg was parked on the curb. 

He held her door open for her. "Your dad didn't question my intentions or anything," he said with a grin. "You do look lovely, by the way."

She climbed in, and waited for him to come around the other side and get in himself. "You ready for this Charlie? Because we can still stop if you're not."

He glanced at her, hand on the ignition. He blew out a breath. "Yeah. I can do this. Just pretend to be dad for a night. I can handle it." He looked down and grinned suddenly. "Oh, I almost forgot. This is for you." He nudged a box across the seats towards her.

"You brought me a present?" She opened the box, to reveal a magnificent diamond necklace. She looked up in astonishment. "Is this your mother's?"

"No. Bea made it. Apparently, the three big ones in the center are bombs. You yank them off the wire and it starts a timer. Stick them to something and you have about twenty seconds to get clear."

"They really look like diamonds, too. Nice work."

"She has two more," he said, pulling away from the curb. "Said she was trying to fit a camera in a cigarette case. You may have created a monster. I expect she'll be at the workshop all night, tinkering with stuff."

Anja fastened the necklace. "Lets just hope I don't accidentally blow us both up."

"She claimed it was pretty hard to do. Something about a stable explosive compound and the wire acting as a neutralizer. I swear, sometimes when she talks I understand the faces people make when I talk."

That made her laugh. "When I sabotaged the Badoon tanks, I told my mother that unlike others, I listen when you talk." The memory and the mention surprised her even as she said it. She tried not to think about the war.

He grinned and looked over at her. "Yes, you do. Takes you twice as long to get the glazed look."

"Maybe I'm just very smart."

"I think that must be it," he agreed, weaving through New York traffic. She had the craziest urge to put her hand on his knee. If they had an audience, certainly she would. But she wanted to, just because she wanted to.

He pulled up in front of the hotel the speakeasy was in. The valet looked like it was Christmas when Charlie tossed him the keys. He offered her his arm again as they headed inside. Heads definitely turned at the pair of them. She leaned in near his ear and whispered. "So this is what it's like being a Stark."

"Pretty much. With you on my arm at least I won't get the frighteningly desperate women throwing themselves in my path."

"I'll kick their teeth in," she replied.

"I'll buy you a real necklace if you do."

The elevator operator smiled at them, and ushered them inside. "If you need a beard at social events, you could have told me years ago." She looked at the elevator man. "Penthouse, please."

They were quiet in the lift. Once through the doors he picked up the conversation as if they'd never stopped. "I just stopped going to them. Worked just as well."

"Your mother must be beside herself." They stopped in front of what looked like a service door. She knocked in a specific sequence, and just before it opened, said, "You're on."

He gave a short little nod and plastered a grin on when the door was opened. "Hi there. Charlie Stark. Yes, those Starks. I heard this was the place to be for a little fun."

The doorman studied him, then her. He even looked at the necklace. Then he stepped back. "Welcome, Mr. Stark."

"Thank you." He stepped forward, her at his side. He walked different, like he owned the place and was just waiting from someone to come kowtow. Definitely channeling his father. He got them drinks, and inside ten minutes a man in an expensive suit came over and extended an invitation the the back room.

"Well, I've never met a back room I didn't like," Charlie said with a grin. "Shall we, princess?"

"Lead the way, honey," she cooed back. 

The back room was much larger than she expected, but clearly this was where everything happened. It looked not unlike a Monte Carlo casino in there. She wondered if they'd take a woman at poker.

They were left to their own devices and he walked with her around the perimeter like they were taking in the scene. "How am I doing? Laying it on too thick?"

"Nah. Vintage Tony. Would you like a drink? I want to scope the bar back here." 

"Yeah. I should have something in my hand to nurse. Complete the part." 

She leaned up and kissed his cheek, not missing the sharp intake of breath that got her. "I'll surprise you."

"Thanks, princess," he managed. She stepped away and felt a distinct smack on her rear as she turned to the bar. She felt her cheeks heat, and was sure they were bright red by the time she reached the bar.

The man behind it was very well dressed. Whomever he was, she got the sense he was in a position of power. And possibly dangerous. He was watching her. "Good evening," he said.

She plastered on her pretty dumb girl smile. "Hi. My honey told me to surprise hims with a drink. What's your very best one?"

He shifted his eyes, so she turned to look at Charlie so he could see who she was speaking of. "We have the house special," the bartender said.

"Oh, gimme two of those. I like anything that's special."

She watched him pull out a clear bottle containing a clear liquid. No label. He poured two glasses, with just a little ice.

He put them in front of her and she kept her smile on the whole time. "Thanks," she chirruped, scooping up the drinks and carrying them back to Charlie. She could all but feel the bartender's eyes on her as she did so.

Charlie reached for the glass. "What is this?"

"The special. I'm not entirely sure if we should drink it or not." He gave her a skeptical glance. "People have been poisoned."

He sniffed at it. "Smells like vodka."

"Hold it to your lips, and turn your back to the bartender while you do."

He grinned like she'd just said something clever and obeyed, slinging his free arm around her as he did so, angling them both away from the bar. She opened her purse and took out a small glass tube. She turned and pressed her body against his, and between them poured some of their drinks into it. She put the rubber stopper in and dropped it back into her purse. Then for realism leaned up and kissed his jaw.

His arm tightened on her and he kissed her temple. "Want to go gamble a bit?"

"I thought you'd never ask."

They did a tour of all the gaming tables. She found they would, in fact, let her sit at the poker table if Charlie flashed enough cash. She then had the joy of cleaning out a bunch of, sanctimonious old men while pretending to be an airhead. Charlie had to drag her away before they got tossed out. At the black jack table it was his turn to cause a scene. Apparently card counting and deck statistics were an important part of a Stark man's education.

"I hear your father once got banned from Monte Carlo," she told him as she steered him to the roulette table, where hopefully the reality of random numbers would help him lose some money before the gangsters that owned this place got angry at them. Their winning streak had garnered them attention, enough that several large, Italian men had begun collecting in the corners of the room. At least she now had a sense of who was pulling the strings.

"Once implies he was ever allowed back." He put a stack of chips on black, and another on 13, obviously thinking along the same lines as her. "He's been trying to convince my mother to go to Atlantic City with him."

Anja smiled. "I was down there over the summer." Her mother was keeping tabs on all the power brokers and criminal operations Prohibition was spawning. She didn't care about the booze, but enterprises expanded, and it was good to know the lay of the land. She wanted to know where every Boss's weakness was, should she need to use is. "The only indication they know the country is supposed to be dry is all the boats suddenly bringing liquor in from the sea in the middle of the night." 

He watched the wheel spin. "Say what you will about the Mob, they have a certain nobility to them. Violent as hell, but take care of their own. I think Dad respects that. Usually crime lords don't give a shit about their neighborhood."

The casino had gotten much more crowded, all the people pressing around the roulette table pushed her closer to him. Anja could hear his heart rate pick up. Her breasts were kind of pressing against his arm. She tilted her head to get close enough to whisper, "Sorry."

He looked down at her, faces inches apart. "Oh no. Don't apologize. I'm not complaining."

His eyes held hers, and then darted around the room. It happened twice before she realized something was not entirely right. She smoothed her hand over his lapels. They were so close she barely needed to do more than breathe, "What's wrong?"

His jaw clenched a few times before he answered, "The crowd."

She frowned. "Did you see someone?"

He huffed out a breath. "No. It's just. . . I'm not good in crowds."

That surprised her. She'd known him all her life, and the war had been full of crowds. But she could tell it was both very real, and something that had been hard for him to say. They needed to get out of there, but she didn't want him to start pushing people. "Do you trust me?" she asked him.

He focused on her again. "Of course."

She nodded, and then leaned back and slapped him in the face. "You son of a bitch!"

The stunned look on his face was priceless, but. sure as hell, all the people around them took a step back. "I am not some cheap strumpet," she told him. "And I don't share, Charles!" She poked his chest. "I am going back to our room!" She turned and the crowd parted like the red sea, giving them a clear line right to the door.

Behind her, he called, "Princess, wait!" She heard him chase after her, catching her at the door. "I was just kidding, baby," he said, grabbing the door to let them out. 

There were still people in the outer bar, so she shook off his arm and kept walking, not wanting to blow their cover. She went all the way into the hotel hallway. He caught up with her again before the elevator, catching her arm. He glanced up and down the hall and kissed her cheek. "Thanks."

She tipped her face up. "I got your six."

"Did you get what you needed?" he asked. 

"Enough for tonight." She'd figure out what to do about next time later. She tucked her arm through his. "How about we go get a real drink?"

He tucked her close to his side. "I'd like that a lot."

* * *

To be continued in our next installment: _Most Spies Don’t Have to Answer to Their Mother When They Screw Up_


	8. Most Spies Don’t Have to Answer to Their Mother When They Screw Up

The top two floors of Stark Tower, above all the offices, was private space retained by Charlie's family. They were tucked under the spire, beyond the reach of the elevators, and from the windows you could see the entire city, from every angle. It had served many purposes over the years, but right now, they were Charlie's home and private workshop. Up here, he worked on things he didn't dare show anyone else.

Above, there were three stories worth of steel framework, topped by a tiny glassed-in room. It reminded Charlie of a lighthouse up there. The windows could be opened, and once, years ago, Anja's father had shot from there to hit a target Thor put on top of the Brooklyn Bridge. Charlie's father still grumbled sometimes about the money he'd lost that afternoon.

They'd changed out of their fancy clothes, and Anja had produced a bottle of tequila, and then she convinced him to climb up the terrifying metal staircase to the little room, long referred to simply as the Perch.

He sipped his tequila and stared out at the city. He was generally not a fan of heights, but this was so high it actually seemed unreal. Like he was only looking at a picture of the city from afar, not dangling above it. Distance changed everything. "I should come up here more," he muttered. "Change my perspective."

"Do you need a change of perspective?" she asked him.

"Sometimes," He glanced over at her. "I imagine everyone does, sometimes."

She looked at him for a moment. "I don't know if I ever really thanked you. Staying in Europe was the best thing that ever happened to me, and I wouldn't have had the nerve to do it if it wasn't for you."

He remembered the conversation, walking in the camp after Steve and Jo's wedding. There'd been something in her eyes. A kind of panic when she talked about going home. "You knew what was best for you. But I'm happy to have been a part of it."

"The war scarred us all." She turned toward him. "Didn't it?"

For an instant he felt suffocated by the crowd again. He looked out at the skyline and took a few deep breaths to chase it away. "To one degree or another, yeah. I guess that's what it does. Kill you or scar you."

"You could have told me," she said. "A good speakeasy is always crowded."

He sighed. "I know. I thought I could handle it. It's been a while since I was in that sort of crowd. It hasn't bothered me in a while." When he'd first come back even elevators had bothered him. The back work room that Bea used had made him nervous. It had all faded, for the most part. But apparently, it was still there. Waiting to surface.

"Sometimes I smell something really bad—not that anything smells as bad as the trenches, but it seems to be smell that sparks a memory—and I am suddenly right back there. I can hear the shells as real as if they were exploding over my head."

"Scent is very powerful," he agreed, nodding. He was silent a while, stomach churning. He rested his head against the cool glass window. "The suit can be very. . . confining. Especially if you get hit." It wasn't the whole truth, but it was a start. It would explain tonight and why he didn't wear the damned thing anymore.

She touched his arm. "I can see how when damaged it would cease to feel like armor and start to feel like a coffin."

That was an excellent way of putting it. He reached over and covered her hand with his. "I still have nightmares sometimes. Like I can't breathe. Can't move. It got better when I was awake but not when I sleep."

"My Dad always says nightmares are how your mind process horrible things outside its usual experience. Painful to watch, but necessary for sanity. And it can take years."

He nodded slowly. "That's probably a good way to look at it. Maybe it's like a heat sink. Takes up all the crap I don't have to deal with during the day." 

"And we all find our ways to deal. To do things to. . . keep that stuff out of the daily consciousness. Sometimes those methods are weird, but they work. At night, we're defenseless."

It made a lot of sense. More than anything he'd thought of. Maybe he should have talked to the Bartons before. Lord knew they had a lot of trauma between them. "Sometimes I remind myself I'm not the only one. The world is full of people like me, who saw war and took it home. It helps, somehow."

"There are lots and lots of men," she agreed, but he heard what she didn't say. There had been a great many men, and very few women. Few, certainly, who had been on the front lines. Perhaps her experience had been lonely, too.

He sighed, hating the turn the conversation had taken. He took a swig of tequila. "I can go back, if you need me to. Some other night. Now that I know what to expect."

"Are you sure? I don't want you to be uncomfortable."

"I can manage it. Keeping you close will help. And if I act drunk and sloppy most people will give me a wider berth."

"We could make out. Public displays of affection make people uncomfortable."

Well, that might get him in an entirely different type of trouble. The casual touching and kisses tonight had been bad enough. He'd distracted himself by making it a game; smacking her ass and calling her princess. He wasn't sure he'd survive an actual make out session. "You're full of tricks," was all he said.

He could almost see her actually think about what she'd said. Sure enough, she blushed and dipped her head. As if maybe he affected her too. He reached over and rubbed her back. "I should get you home."

She nodded, and reached over to put the cap on the tequila. "I envy you up here."

"I know you like a perch."

"Not just the perch. You have your freedom. Your privacy. I will live with my parents until I find a husband to live with."

Bea said the same thing to him, occasionally. Though he was fairly certain she'd given up on the husband part. The fact his parents were coming to terms with having a spinster at home was making it both easier and harder for her. "I'm lucky," he admitted. "Having my own space has been a sanity saver." He gave her a crooked grin. "I'd offer you sanctuary here but your dad still scares me."

"Well," she said. "Maybe someday." She stood up, and started her climb down the steps.

He watched her a moment, thinking that was probably impossible. But it was a nice dream. Her, tucked up here with him. A part of his life. A little slice of normal in the crazy that was their lives.

*

An analysis of the sample she'd brought from the speakeasy was free of any common poisons. Which didn't mean there wasn't some poison they didn't know about, technically, but their testing methods had been developed by one of the best chemists in the world. It was much more likely that it was, in fact, clean. This meant the victims were likely being chosen specifically, poison slipped into their drinks after they were in their hand. It didn't clear the bartender or other club managers, but any means, but it took the thrust of the suspicion off them.

 And, unfortunately, opened it up to just about everyone in New York rich enough to get in the club.

So Anja found herself yet another fancy dress and she and Charlie went once more into the breach. He played up his part more this time, swinging his glass around and being loud enough people gave him a wider berth.

At one point, she noticed the bartender had come out of the back storeroom, and instead of closing and locking the door he'd left it cracked, perhaps distracted by the line at the bar. "Charlie," she whispered.

He followed her gaze and she felt him tighten a little. He gave a short nod and he cashed out at the table they were at, moving closer to the doorway.

 It took almost ten excruciating minutes, but they finally reached the door. She watched the bartender to make sure he was distracted, then they ducked inside. It was a small office, with a paper covered desk. "Go see if you see anything, I'll watch the door. You have a photographic memory," she added when he raised an eyebrow.

He flashed a grin, like he was pleased she knew that, and went to the desk. He flipped through the papers, scanning and discarding them with freakish speed. He opened the top drawer and made a little noise of triumph, pulling out a leather book that looked like a ledger.

Anja came a little closer. "What is it?"

"Client list." He opened it. "Customers. What they gamble. What they owe." He flipped a page. "Might find an enemy or two in here."

Suddenly she stilled, caught by a creak of wood. "I hear something."

Charlie glanced at the door, hands already moving to return the book to the drawer. He slammed it shut and was coming around the desk when the door opened, revealing the big, dangerous looking bartender. "What the hell are you doing?"

"This isn't the powder room?" she asked. She opened her purse and pulled out her compact, opening it as if to powder her nose.

"I think it's pretty obvious it's not." He reached for her and she blew across the powder, right into his face. He sneezed, looked pissed, then dropped like a ton of bricks.

Charlie came to stand next to her. "Well, shit, now what do we do with him?"

She was busy staring at her compact. "This thing is amazing. I can't believe it worked. Would you look at the size of that guy?"

"My sister is a very frightening person," he agreed. "Though I'm pretty sure it was Bruce who made the powder."

"Well, I'm sure it's not permanent, and we'll be long gone by the time he wakes."

"Yeah. And unable to come back here and no closer to figuring out what's going on then we were before."

She looked over at him. "So you want to. . . take him with us?"

He shrugged. "It's that or blow the whole op. Unless there's someone else you can think of that can come take over. Which would involve telling your mother we got caught snooping in the office."

"Right. Okay. How do we do this?"

Charlie rubbed the back of his head, scanning the room. His eyes lit up and he walked over to the window, yanking it up and sticking his head out. He glanced back at the bartender. "How heavy you think he is?"

"I. . ." she poked him with a foot. "Less than 200? But not by much."

He came back over. "There's a fire escape. Go back out and break into one of the empty rooms a few stories down. I'll bring him down to you, then we can take him to the basement in the elevator. After that we'll get the car, put him in the trunk and get out of here."

She grinned. "I bring you along because you're brilliant."

"I am very brilliant," he agreed with a nod.

"Where are we going to take him?"

He faltered. "That's where it gets complicated."

*

"This is a workshop, not a prison cell!" Bea watched her brother tie the unconscious mobster to a chair in her little side room off his lab. "I can't work with him in here."

"I told you you could use the main lab while I was busy with field work," Charlie muttered, tightening the knot he was working on. It looked complicated, Steve must have taught it to him.

"I like working in here," she protested. He glanced at her skeptically. "The light is better," she added defensively.

"As Aunt Syn would say, 'That was a lie.'" He straightened. "It's just for a couple of days. If it really bothers you, you can. . . I don't know, use the lab at my apartment."

Her brother was very protective of his private lab. "I thought that was where all your super-secret stuff was?"

"It is, but you're not likely to tell on me."

Bea frowned. He sounded sincere, but Charlie was as private as she was, sometimes. The idea of intruding on his space was more distasteful then using the large lab. "I can try using the main lab," she said slowly. "If it's only going to be a few days."

Even Bea could see he looked relieved at that. "Whatever you like."

That had been the right answer, apparently. "Who is he?" she asked, pointing at the captive.

"No idea. A bartender. Who's probably a gangster, and may be poisoning people. But probably not. The poisoning. Mafia part's pretty likely."

She sighed and rubbed a spot between her eyes that was starting to ache. "You're a terrible spy."

"We couldn't just leave him there. Anja dosed him with your magical face powder."

Even in her irritation she felt a flush of pride at that. "He'll be awake in a few hours, then."

"You have enough weapons?" he asked her seriously.

She nodded. "In this room I'm the best armed person in the building."

"Excellent. Thank you." He kissed her cheek, and then he was gone, and she was alone with her charge.

She kept herself busy working on her latest project. Eventually she left to teach class and get lunch. When she returned she brought a sack with food and a soda for the man tied in her workroom. And no, it remained weird no matter how often she thought it.

She poked her head into the room. "Are you awake?"

Dark eyes glared back at her. "Who are you?"

"My name is Bea." She stepped inside the room and held up the sack lunch. "I brought you a sandwich."

"Where am I?" he asked instead. He was a big man, that had been obvious when he was unconscious. Now that he was awake, though, she could tell how strong and likely dangerous he was. Like someone had chained up a lion.

She put the bag on her work table and rummaged through the gadgets she was working on. Charlie hadn't said she couldn't talk to him. "You're at the facility of a government agency called the Avengers. My br - fellow agent brought you in last night when you interrupted their investigation of your nightclub. I'm told you'll only be here a few days, while they finish their investigations."

"Those people snooping in my desk?" He sighed and looked up. "I was told all relevant law enforcement parties had been properly compensated."

Well, he sounded less homicidal. That was a good sign. "Oh, they don't care about the liquor. Someone's been poisoning your clientele." She found was she was looking for on her table and tucked it in her pocket, then started unpacking his food. "Given the wealth and influence of your average customer, this is causing some concern."

"Poisoning? We don't sell that shit cut with wood alcohol. Sorry, Ma'am. My Mama would smack me in the mouth."

He was getting less scary all the time. She was good at this prison warden thing. "No, we're fairly sure you're not the culprit. We tested your alcohol and it was free of poison and decent quality, given it's not from a commercial still." She brought the sandwich and soda bottle to the end of the table, just out of arm's reach of him. "I believe they're now trying to find a reliable guest list. Something about a ledger? They knew you'd throw them out and the op would be in jeopardy. Hence the kidnapping."

"Did you try it?" he asked her.

She blinked. "The liquor? No, I helped run the tests on it for poison."

He shrugged. "I'm always looking for honest opinions. Figured the woman who has me tied to a chair would not indulge in idle flattery."

"I'm never one for idle flattery. I wouldn't know where to begin. Are you looking to improve your methods? Because I have some suggestions."

"You didn't even taste it," he replied, looking somewhat irritated. But not in a way that made her nervous.

"No, but I studied it on a chemical level," she replied, aware she was slipping into lecture hall voice. "It had a lower number of impurities than most still liquor, I assume you actually go to the trouble of passing it through the distillation process more than once. But the proof was low for moonshine, barely over 100proof. I suppose it's possible you don't want it to be too high, but I assume drunk patrons spend more money. Also, the impurities I _did_ find tell me you're running the still too hot and it's evaporating too fast."

He inclined his head. "I assume cooler is going to mean slower?"

She considered, leaning her rear back on the table. "Somewhat. Unless I rig up something to catch the evaporated particulate that still lets the alcohol through. . . " She dug her note pad out of her pocket and flipped to a blank page. He managed to move his chair a little closer, the bottom scraping and squeaking against the floor as he did so. The sound made her jump. She dropped the notebook and her hand went to the little weapon she’d slipped in her pocket earlier. They stared at each other a moment, air tense.

He looked down at it. "What is that?"

She held it up and pushed a button, sending electricity arcing between two electrodes with a crackle. "It's an electric gun. Sends about about 50,000 volts and .004 amps into anything it touches. That's more than enough to knock a grown man out without any lasting harm." She glanced at him. "I make weapons."

"I see that," he said warily. It took her a bit to decipher the look in his eyes, but she was surprised to realize it was respect.

Maybe she could make this work. Fifty thousand volts solved a lot of problems. She slid the gun back into her pocket. "Right. Now that we've established our boundaries. How about I loosen one of your arms so you can eat and we can discuss how to make your liquor better?"

"That sounds very fair." He paused. "I'm Leo."

She beamed, feeling an odd rush of pleasure, like she was a child who'd just made a new friend. "Nice to meet you.”

* * *

To be continued in our next installment: _A Drunk Spinster Forces a Compromise_


	9. A Drunk Spinster Forces a Compromise

Charlie stepped out of the elevator at work to find Anja there waiting for him. "Good morning," he said, sipping his coffee. There were perks to living above your office. "Did you miss me?"

"I figured we could try talking to the prisoner together," she replied in a tone of voice far too chipper to be discussing interrogation.

He started towards the lab, Anja falling into step beside him. "Do you know anything about prisoner questioning?"

"No. But I'm good at getting intel out of people in the field."

He was pretty sure the methods for getting information when your target was at a party versus tied to a chair were different. It was probably too early in the morning to argue with her, though. He let them into the lab, only to find it in shambles, half finished projects and machine parts strewn across the tables. He heard the rumble of male speech from the work room, then the unmistakable sound of his sister's voice. "Bea?" He dropped his coffee, sprinting through the mess to her little back work room.

He found both Bea and their captive—who was untied—hunched over her table with a row of glasses on it. Behind them was what he was surprised to realize was a still.

"And I think with the time you're going to save with the mods you could try infusing the purer batches with flavor," Bea was saying. "Orange rinds. Berries. Even cinnamon sticks. Women especially would be suckers for that."

"You missed your calling," the mobster said, inspecting one of the glasses.

Anja elbowed Charlie, the look on her face indicating that she didn't entirely believe what she was seeing.

He cleared his throat. "Uh. Bea?"

She jumped and turned around, stumbling a little. The former prisoner put a hand out and steadied her, which sent an inexplicable flicker of protectiveness through Charlie. 

"Charlie! Anja! You're back." Bea grinned. "This is Leo. We're perfecting the art of moonshine."

"Are you drunk?" Anja asked, tone a mix of disbelief and amusement.

Bea shook her head very seriously. "Noooo. Well. I've had to sample the products to tweak the design." She gestured at the still and the mobster - Leo, apparently - steadied her again.

So, yes. She was drunk. He had never seen Bea drunk. "Why is he untied?"

"Oh. I needed another pair of hands for some of the building. He's really very nice. Been the perfect gentleman." She grinned. "Oh! He said he'd help you with your investigating in return for me retrofitting his stills."

"She's a very articulate drunk," Anja muttered.

"Wait," Charlie said. "You're going to _help_ us?" This was not at all how he pictured this going. 

Leo shrugged. "Somebody is poisoning people in my joint. That's bad for business."

"Wouldn't your, uh, organization be unhappy with you helping us?"

He crossed his arms over his chest. "You assume every Italian man you meet is in the Mafia?"

Charlie arched a brow. "The ones I meet bar-tending a speakeasy with mob ties? Yes."

"You do meet the expected stereotypes," Bea added conversationally.

He hadn't taken his eyes off Charlie. "You a spoiled rich kid hanging on to Daddy's legacy? If we're all being our stereotypes."

Oh, he was absolutely not having a pissing contest with this guy. "Actually, I'm a beat up war vet who works for the most powerful government organization in the world. And that's my little sister you've put your hand on twice in my presence. So I'm gonna ask you to think very carefully about which direction you want the rest of this conversation to go."

"I'm risking much worse than your government can dish out by helping you, so if you're interested in intimidating me I'd suggest going and building yourself a pair of thumbscrews first." He glanced at Bea. "And your sister can handle herself."

Bea grinned at that. "I established my ability to defend myself by showing him my electric gun."

Any other time he'd have been very proud of her for that. His parents never gave her enough credit. "Great, Bea. Why don't you come over here and Anja will take you up to my place to get some sleep. While your new friend and I talk shop." 

"Are you going to beat him up?" Bea demanded.

He glanced at her. "That's not entirely up to me."

She turned to Leo. "If you engage my brother in a fist fight, I don't believe we can continue to have an acquaintance. I enjoyed talking with you and was looking forward to helping you retrofit your equipment."

He turned to look at her. "Well, I have no intention of taking a swing. Do you require I stand still while he hits me until he feels dominance is established?"

The absolute craziest thing was that Charlie suddenly had the sense that if Bea asked him to, the man _would_.

"No one is punching anyone," Anja said. "I'm happy to get out a ruler and you can both drop your trousers and we'll settle that, _or_ we can let the drunk parties sober up, and discuss this in a few hours like civilized people."

Charlie realized they were all watching him. With effort, he loosened his shoulders and nodded. "That's probably a good idea." Bea was looking at him pleadingly and he sighed. "There are quiet rooms upstairs with cots if Mr- Leo would like to rest here instead of trying to get home."

"Torrente," Bea supplied. "Leo Torrente." She said it like it had an 'a' on the end. She glanced at him cautiously. "Right?"

He grinned at her. "Perfect." He inclined his head. "Miss Beatrice." He looked at Charlie. "Mr. Stark." He held out his hands. "I assume there are cuffs?" 

Bea was giving Charlie that look again. He glanced at Anja, who shrugged and shook her head as if to say 'Hey, you're the one with the testosterone poisoning.' He sighed and rubbed his temple. He'd been in a much better mood ten minutes ago. "We generally don't handcuff. . . consultants, Mr. Torrente. My sister seems to think you're trustworthy and you're in a building full of agents. The worst you can do is leave and that might actually simplify my life."

He spread his hands. "Suit yourself. Lead the way."

No way in hell Charlie was having him at his back. He held the door for both Leo and Bea to proceed him and Anja out. Once in the elevator he hit the button for the quiet floor and for the top floor. "Bea, go with Anja to my place. I think you still have some spare clothes there."

His sister looked from him to Torrente uncertainly and he sighed. "I promise, no fighting."

The doors opened and he gestured for Torrente to go ahead. As he stepped out and the doors closed he heard Bea ask Anja, "What would you need a ruler for?" and couldn't help but chuckle.

*

Anja waited patiently for Bea to shower and change into pajamas, listening through the door for any sounds indicated she'd finally tipped over in her drunkenness. When she reemerged Anja handed her a glass of water and some aspirin and made her finish it before letting her climb into Charlie's spare bed. 

"He really is very nice," Bea muttered, punching a pillow into shape under her head. "Charlie should be nicer to him."

"Untying him was dangerous," Anja commented.

She made a rather adorable grumpy face. "He was _nice_ ," she insisted, though Anja had the feeling she was trying to express something more complicated. "He listened to me. Most men don't listen. I have to make them feel stupid before they believe I'm smart. Not him." She sighed and closed her eyes. "It was nice."

It _would_ be a criminal the Bea Stark had her first crush on. "Get some sleep," Anja said.

She sighed again and nuzzled her pillow. Anja let herself out of the room, closing the door silently behind her. She heard Charlie's voice and followed it to the door of his private lab. A peek inside told her he was one the phone, apparently to his parents.

". . . helping me with some projects and we lost track of time. . . No, for the poisoning thing Anja's working on. She needs stuff she can carry in a purse and you know Bea's better at the little stuff than I am. . . By dinner, I'll make sure. . . . Okay. Bye." He hung up the receiver and tipped his head back with a groan.

"Is your mother beside herself?" she asked from the doorway.

"A little bit," he said, turning to look at her. "Imagine if I'd told her the truth." He waved her in. "Before this morning I would not have believed Bea could a) get drunk or b) have an attraction to another human being."

"I did notice that, yes. It's a little bit adorable."

"Except for the part where he's a Mafioso we previously thought was poisoning people, yeah, it's precious." He paused and looked at her askance. "We're in agreement your mother doesn't need to know about my sister's pet mob guy sleeping freely downstairs?"

"Hundred percent." She looked around. "Mind if I come in?"

"Yeah. Come have a seat. I don't think I'm getting much work done this morning."

She sat on a stool at the end of his big center table. "I feel very privileged to be invited in here. Even my mother doesn't know what goes on up here." 

He shrugged, scanning the room as if checking for anything particularly embarrassing. "This is my off the clock stuff. None of her business," He grinned crookedly. "Which I'm sure drives her nuts."

"She likes her fingers in all the pies." Casting a cautious glance at him, she got up and walked around the room. She could feel him watching her and waited for the request to not look.

"You can snoop," he said finally. "I trust you to keep my secrets."

She glanced at him. "What are you making up here, Charles, sex robots?"

He gave that same crooked grin. "Hey, if I'd figured that out do you think I'd still be working for government pay." He stood and joined her. He patted the block of metal. "This is a dish washer."

She blinked in surprise. "A dish washer?"

"Yeah." He pulled a lever and the front of the box opened, revealing racks with slots and some fans on the top and bottom. "You put the dishes in, hook it into the plumbing and electric and it'll clean a sink load of dishes in about an hour."

Anja smiled. "That is very neat. Surprising, but neat."

He shrugged. "I know it's not particularly manly pursuits. But I build what comes to me. I like the idea of making life easier."

"Have you made any washing machines for clothes? I've seen some, but they're terrible."

"I have a couple of prototypes. They're over here." He lead her to another corner, where a series of similar looking machines stood.

She crouched down to look at them. "You have any idea what an affordable washing machine would be worth?"

"I've never actually done my own laundry, so. . ."

"It takes two days. Literally. A full one just on washing. It's the most backbreaking task a woman does, and it's utterly endless."

He made a little noise, contemplating his machines again. "I'd need to do some serious work to make it more affordable. It's not something I want only the rich to have, you know? Regular people deserve free time."

"Regular people need it more, I'd think. Since they can't buy it."

"I suppose I can sell as a loss if I have to," he mused. He was silent a moment. "No one knows I work on this stuff."

She watched his face, unable to read him. "Whyever not?"

He scuffed his foot, kicking the side of one of the prototypes. "I don't know. Domestic machines aren't particularly manly. I don’t think any of them would understand. All Bea wants is to work for the Avengers. Dad is so proud of his legacy. It's hard to reconcile that with this." He gestured the the machines and somme of the stuff strewn on the table.

"None of them have ever been in a refugee camp or trench without adequate laundry facilities. If an army marches on its stomach, it holds a line on clean socks. Some woman behind the lines with a scrub board is why we both have all ten toes." Syn had enforced an obsessive and brutal level of cleanliness in the American trenches, which included laundering clothes regularly. It was only when she hit the refugee camps did she learn just how god-awful lice were.

"Not sure a laundry run on electricity and requiring piped plumbing would have helped but I can see your point." He chuckled, but there was no humor in it. "What's sad is if Bea made this kind if stuff Dad would probably build her a shop and sell them through the corporation for her. But all she wants to do is make weapons." He shook his head. "She and I were born in the wrong bodies."

"Maybe you should set up shop together. Hide behind the curtains like the Wizard of Oz."

He chuckled for real that time and smiled at her briefly. "I just. . . the war was so awful. I hated it. I don't want to make things that kill people. I want to help them. To give people. . . time. Time with their family or their passions. So they can enjoy life, however long or short it might be."

It struck a nerve in her, somewhere deep. She looked at him for a minute, and said, "Then do it."

She could tell she'd startled him. "What?"

"You have money, don't you? Some sort of trust fund? That's a damn sight better than most people have when they start a business. If it's not enough, raise some capital. You're a Stark, the banks will welcome you. Bea would _need_ your father because she'd be laughed out of First Manhattan. You wouldn't. Get a factory and get these things in the Sears catalog and I promise you, they'll sell." She put her hands on her hips. "And don't start on the 'unmanly'. There's a paper company right now making money hand over fist selling leftover war bandages for women's monthly times."

He blinked at her. Then the surprise melted off his face and she could see the beginning of a thoughtful, calculating look. Knowing him he was tabulating accounts and breaking down budgets. He nodded slowly and a faint smile curved his mouth. "I'll give it some thought," he said quietly. "It's a big decision. Will have a lot of consequences."

"I think this is where I punch you in the shoulder and tell you to be a man, but I don't like that it implies women are weak."

He smiled and touched her shoulder. "You're one of the strongest people I know. Thank you for the pep talk." 

She felt a flush of pleasure at the compliment. Even though she had long wrestled with whether it was true. "I'm not quite as invincible as I used to think I was. But thank you."

"Well, none of us are what we thought we were when we were young." He gave her shoulder a squeeze. "You want something to eat? I had a piece of toast for breakfast and am suddenly peckish."

"As long as you're buying," she replied.

"Of course. I'm a gentleman, you know." He crooked his elbow, giving her his charming Stark grin.

She took his offered arm. "You keep telling yourself that, Stark."

*

Anja had meetings in the afternoon, and Charlie was at loose ends. He couldn’t concentrate in the lab. He even pulled out one of the few weapons he enjoyed working on. He’d been trying for years to make Anja a better bow—one that used pulleys to increase the amount of draw, so she could shoot as far as her father, with a woman's upper body strength.

That was the theory, anyway. It only sort of worked, and she had no idea it even existed.

Around three Bea showed up, replying to his greeting with only a grunt, going into her workshop and closing the door. He stared at it, trying to resist the temptation to go hassle his sister while in the throes of her very first hangover.

After a while, he poured her a cup of coffee and risked knocking.

"I do not want a lecture!" she called through the door.

He opened the door a crack and stuck the hand with the coffee through. "I come in peace."

There was a brief pause. "You may enter."

He opened the door slowly, and carried the coffee over to her bench. "It will help."

She eyed it suspiciously, then took it, sipping. "Thank you."

"Eating will probably also help."

That got a little groan. "I don't ever want to eat again." She drank more coffee. "Why do people drink? This feels awful."

"Was it fun last night?" She nodded. "That's why."

"I need to study chemistry and create a cure for this feeling."

He laughed. "If you did that, Bea, you'd be richer than Dad."

She drank more coffee, cupping both hands around it. "Is Leo up?"

He eyed her. "So you're on a first name basis, then?"

The coffee mug hit the table with and thunk and she turned the full force of her glare on him. "I'm a grown woman and a spinster I can call him whatever I want."

He sighed, not sure there was anything he could say that wouldn't piss her off. But he worried. She wasn't exactly socially adept, and she knew next to nothing about men. She wasn't like Anja, who'd take out the kneecaps of any man who even thought of doing her wrong. Bea could get hurt. But all he said was, "I will go check on him."

"Bring him some coffee," she muttered, turning away from him to work on something on the bench.

He sighed again, but left, grabbing another cup on his way up to the quiet rooms. He knocked on the door of the room they'd left him in, and a moment later got a reply. Torrente was sitting on the bed in there. He'd either slept on top of the blanket, or was one of those people who obsessively made the bed.

Charlie held the coffee out. "Bea is awake and Anja should be done with her meetings in the next ten minutes or so. If you're ready to talk next steps."

He took the mug. "Thank you." He sipped it quietly a moment. "Is she all right?"

"She has her first hangover ever and seems to hate just about everything except you."

That made him smile. "She's very skilled at distilling for someone who's not much of a drinker."

Charlie couldn't help but grin. He'd always been proud of his sister, even when they were kids and should have been jealous and sniping. He bragged about her more than their parents did. "It's all just engineering, really. Bea's the best engineer in the country. She can make anything you can imagine. And anything _she_ can imagine, which is even more impressive."

He grinned back. "Yeah, I believe that."

He should probably say something. Warn him off. Maybe attempt another stupid threat. But he just didn't have it in him. He'd rather get along with the guy, if they were going to be allies. "She knows far more about machines than people," he said, hoping he got the hint.

Torrente stilled and raised his eyes. Dumb man he was not. "Look," he said finally. "If we're going to work together, the idea of you and I circling each other an growling all the time gives me _agita_. So let's get it out. Am I attracted to her? Yes. Am I very aware that I am the son of a butcher and she's a _Stark_? Yes. Other than this bizarre situation we don't even exist on the same planet. You have nothing to worry about. My Mama raised me properly and I will treat your sister with nothing but polite respect. _Capish_?"

The worst thing was, in different circumstances, Charlie would probably like the guy. Bea probably needed someone who could get her drunk but still liked the brain. "Taking a wild stab at what that meant, yeah, I understand." He held out a hand. "Truce."

Torrente stood and shook his hand. To Charlie's surprise, he said quietly. "I'm glad you see she's brilliant."

Charlie gave his patented Stark crooked grin. "She never lets me forget it."

Once they got to the workshop, Anja had arrived, and apparently turned the lights down to encourage Bea to come out.

"Your sister is the grumpiest drunk I've ever met," she told Charlie after greeting Torrente. "In this, she did not take after your father."

"Dad's not the most pleasant while hungover, either. I recall her being rather adorably giggly while actually drinking."

Bea finally came out of her workshop. "I do not giggle."

"If you say so." She saw Leo and gave him a wide smile before shoving her coffee cup in Charlie's hand for a refill. He ran and refilled her cup like a secretary, trying to ignore the way Bea was looking at their guest. It was just strange to think of his sister as a woman. 

When he walked back, Anja gave him a quelling look. As if she could read his mind. She almost could, sometimes; that's how well she knew him. Bea deserved someone who could read her like that, who knew how she ticked. Not that he and Anja were. . .something.

He handed Bea her coffee and stifled a sigh. He wondered if the entire day was going to be him getting in trouble with one woman or another. Next Nat would come and find out what they'd done and tear him asunder. The idea alone made him want a drink.

The still probably had some 'shine left in it. . .

"I've been hired to provide entertainment at a very large party," Torrente was saying. "Basically we're packing up the casino and setting it up in someone's house. So we'll be completely closed for three days. Maybe four."

"That will make investigation rather tricky," Anja said.

"I'm concerned whomever is doing this may find this party a particular opportunity. Lots of movers and shakers there. I can talk to my people, beef up security—security is something we do well—but I don't even know what I'm looking for."

"A party might be a good opportunity for spying," Charlie said. "Different atmosphere. More controlled guest list. Suspicious behavior could stand out better."

"Yes," Anja said. "If anything happens, we at least have a working suspect list." She turned and grinned at him. "I can't wait to see you in white tie."

He sighed. "My mother will be so happy." He glanced at Torrente. "Can you get us in?"

"You could get yourself in, I'm fairly certain your parents at least were invited. It's that sort of party. But yes, I can."

"Can I come?" Bea aksed. They all turned to look at her. She pulled herself to her full height. "I'm a Stark, too. Another pair of eyes will help, the party is going to be bigger than the club."

"You know it involves a fancy dress, right?" Charlie asked.

"I have dresses."

"I don't think you can wear your deb dress to this, Bea-Bea."

She scowled. "I can purchase dresses."

"I think it's a swell idea," Anja said. "I will help her obtain a dress."

Charlie tossed her a look he hoped resembled the one his mother gave Dad when he was offering to do something she thoroughly disapproved of. Bad enough his sister was crushing on a mobster. He did _not_ need Anja freakin' Barton _helping_. If Bea showed up at this thing in a dress like Anja had worn that first night he was fairly certain he was going to have a heart attack.

She arched both eyebrows at him and tilted her head. _Trust me,_ the look said.

He grit his teeth and closed his eyes briefly. "All right. We'll all go."

Anja clapped her hands, and then surprised him by throwing them around his neck. He had no choice but to accept the hug, and took a moment to close his eyes. She always smelled so good.

When he opened them again he found Bea watching him with an almost smug smile on her face. He gave Anja one last squeeze and pat. "You just want to go shopping again," he teased her.

"With the most reluctant companion in New York? Absolutely."

"You're a Barton, you thrive on challenge."

* * *

To be continued in our next installment: _Obligatory Makeover Montage_


	10. Obligatory Makeover Montage

It was a challenge all right. But not the one Anja expected.

"Bea. . . You have to have some sort of opinion or preference. How do you pick your regular clothes?" They were in one of the nicest dress salons in New York, with carte blanche from Mrs. Stark to buy anything Bea's heart desired. Only it did not desire. It was indifferent.

Bea shrugged. It was, quite possibly, her hundredth shrug of the day. "My mother buys my clothing."

Anja sat down next to her. The proprietor was hovering, but she waved the woman away. Bea was logical. She could approach this with logic. "I'm going to list two choices. Just pick one, first instinct, don't think about it. Dark or light?"

"Dark," she said immediately. She sounded oddly relieved at the simplicity.

"Smooth or textured?"

Her nose crinkled. "Without more infor-"

"Ah, ah, ah. Instinct."

She huffed out a breath. "Texture."

"Sleeves or straps?"

She hesitated and Anja was pretty sure she was weighing options. Bea said, "Straps," before she could prod her, though.

"Thank you." She hopped up, and came back with three dresses. She was certain they would fit, Bea was built perfectly for the lines of the current fashion. She didn't need to wrap tape over her bra just to get a satin dress to fit.

She brought Bea three dresses, one purple, one red, and one black. "These are your options. Pick one of them."

Bea stood and inspected all of them, pacing back and forth. Anja wondered what, exactly, she was basing this decision on. She'd half expected her to just grab the closest one, relieved at being done. But she seemed to actually be dithering over her options like a normal woman.

Finally, she reached out and touched the purple one, then glanced back at Anja as if for approval. "I think it will go very nice with your hair," Anja replied.

She looked back that the dress. It was drapey, with asymmetrical lines and glittering beads on the skirt. "Symmetry is ideal in a mate, but the eye is naturally drawn to asymmetry," she said thoughtfully.

"Why don't you try it on?" she suggested encouragingly. "Also, I had not thought of that but I suppose it's true. Men with very well matched features are more attractive."

"It's why animal marking are often symmetrical." She took the purple dress back into the dressing area. Anja loitered in the lounge, resisting the urge to pace like a nervous mother. After an eternity, Bea drew the curtain back and stepped out, the purple dress clinging to every line.

"Goodness," she said softly. "You're kind of gorgeous."

Bea blinked and looked down at herself, then at her reflection in the tri-mirrors. "You were correct, the coloring is flattering to my hair as well as my skin tone." She turned a little, then back. "The beads are eye catching."

She grinned. "You will turn lots of heads. Particularly the one you'd like to."

She didn't even pretend to misunderstand. "I've never dressed with the intention of being alluring before." She looked in the mirror again and smoothed a hand down her front. "I've never attempted to catch a man's eye." She looked back at Anja. "Charlie disapproves. But you're encouraging me."

"Of course I am." She came closer to the mirror. "Tell me this: why do you like him?"

Bea considered a moment. "He's polite. He speaks to me as an equal. He's not intimidated by my intelligence but instead seems to find it attractive. He is, in his own ways, very smart. His smile is sweet and honest." She glanced at Anja. "And did you see the rest of him?"

That made Anja laugh. "I did, yes." She met Bea's eyes in the mirror. "We're strange people. You more than most." You could be honest with Bea. "If you meet somebody that. . .gets you, you shouldn't let that go just because of stupid society rules or your brother's overprotectiveness. It's. . .It's really rare."

The other woman contemplated that a moment. "Then why haven't you and Charlie moved forward in your relationship?"

Bluntness could be expected in return, she supposed. "I didn't know you'd noticed."

She rolled her eyes. "It's because I'm bad at social interaction that I’ve learned to watch other people carefully. I note differences. You treat each other differently than you do others of the opposite sex. From there, it's a simple deduction you're attracted to each other. I haven't seen any indication that either of you is getting regular sex. Therefore, you haven't done anything about it."

Anja blinked at her. "How can you tell if someone is or is not regularly getting some?"

"Sex causes the body to produce certain hormones and endorphins that have lasting effects. Pain reduction, better lubricated joints, muscle elasticity. Even softer skin and better complexion at times." She paused. "We're supposed to have sex. It makes us healthier."

"I did not know that." Anja wondered sometimes what would have happened if she'd been able to come home after war. If she'd been able to take Charlie up on the offer he'd been very clearly, quietly making that night. The would probably be married by now. And having plenty of apparently beneficial sex. By the time she came home, after more years than he must have expected, neither of them had mentioned it. Maybe it had just been a fleeting moment, when their friendship could have been something else. She sighed. "With these things there is often a window. An opening. And if you miss it. . ." she shrugged. "I guess that's what I'm getting at for you. Don't miss it. Regret is uncomfortable."

Bea looked at her a long moment. Anja had always assumed she was oblivious to emotions and nuance. Now she wondered exactly what she saw, looking at them all with that extreme logic. Finally, she nodded and stepped down to go back to the changing room. Halfway there, she stopped an looked back. "Events are almost never non-repeatable. No matter how specific or rare, circumstances can be repeated to replicate an observed reaction. Second chances aren't just flights of romantic fancy, they're scientific inevitabilities."

She looked down. "I surely do not want to repeat any part of the war."

"I just mean. . . if you are regretting a missed window with my brother, then odds are very good such a window may open again. If you're too distracted with what might have been, you may miss the second chance."

Thinking about that still felt raw. More than she expected. "I will keep that in mind."

Bea nodded again and went back to the changing room, returning a few moments later in her regular clothes. "Thank you for the help shopping."

"Thank you for trusting me. Now we need to talk about shoes and accessories. And. . . your hair."

She frowned. "What's wrong with my hair?"

*

The evening of the party, Anja came over to the Stark Mansion to get ready. Bea would have much preferred to go to the Barton's house, but she had more space, and it made her mother happy. That did, however, mean that she had her mother and her two younger sisters, plus Anja, hovering about and fussing with her hair. At least Anja had gone into the dressing room to put her own gown on, leaving Bea alone with Mama, Mae, and Lillian.

Mae had gotten married that spring, and because she was one of Bea's sisters, she was already visibly pregnant. Lillian was in the throes of her social season. Both of them thought the idea of their spinster older sister going out on the town was utterly fascinating. In their world, unmarried women over thirty were, apparently, legally dead.

"It would be easier if you'd let us cut it," Mae said yet again, carefully pinning a curl to Bea's head.

"I can't cut it. I need to have 'professional and demure' hair for work. If I show up with hair like Anja's I'll be fired." She winced as Mae accidentally jabbed her with a hair pin. "It's only one night, not worth making major appearance changes."

"She doesn't need to cut her hair," her mother said from the chair where she was sitting, perusing her box of jewels. "Long hair is lovely." There seemed to be an age cut-off for bobbed hair. It was the provence of girls, and Bea wasn't a girl anymore.

"Just finish the curls," Bea said. "My patience for this sort of thing is fraying by the second."

Anja came out of the dressing room in a long turquoise beaded gown. It reminded Bea of a mermaid. "Think of it as part of your uniform, your battle gear, for this particular op."

Mae sighed dramatically. "I don't think she speaks your warrior woman language, Anja."

None of the women in Bea's family knew she'd gone into battle during the war. If Papa had told Mama, she'd have heard of it for sure. They had no idea she made weapons. Her mother would be horrified, she imagined. So would her three older sisters. She could guess how Mae felt based on how she sneered that last sentence. Mae wasn't all that crazy about Anja, though Bea didn't know why. Possibly because Lillian idolized her. Lillian really wanted to be what Anja had been at her age, only she had about an eighth of Anja's sense and none of her training.

She met Anja's gaze in the vanity mirror and smiled, hoping some gratitude showed in the look. "Perhaps I'll think of it as more of a costume. Like I'm playing a part. I certainly don't look like myself in them."

"You look beautiful," Lillian told her. "It's a pity you don't dress more flattering all the time."

"It's a great tragedy of our sex that the plainer you look, the more seriously people take you," Anja replied. "And vice versa."

Bea smirked a little, looking down to hide it, especially after Mae made a sour face. The last few pins went in quite forcefully. "Your hair is done."

"Thank you," she said with exaggerated politeness.

Mama got up and brought her a necklace and earrings, and kissed her cheek. "You look beautiful, Beatrice."

 "Thank you," she repeated, this time more sincerely. If her mother knew who, exactly, she was dressing up for she'd likely have an apoplexy. But she was letting her go on a mission, no questions asked. It was better to leave her in ignorance.

She slid the earrings in as her mother fastened the necklace. Everyone backed up as she stood. "I'm ready as I'll ever be, I suppose."

"Can we have a minute?" Anja asked, making a shooing motion with her hands.

Mae still looked like she'd tasted a lemon, but allowed herself to be lead out of the room with Mama and Lillian. Bea looked at Anja. "I'm sorry my sister is a bitch. I blame the hormones."

She shrugged. "You should see the things women said to me at suffrage protests. We're our own worst enemies. It isn't the men. It's us."

She couldn't really argue with that. The women on staff at school were far cattier about her than any of the men. They just thought she was somehow faking her intelligence. The women were certain she was hiding something. "Jealousy is ugly."

"That it is." She paused. "There's something I wanted to discuss with you. I recall you had a. . .suitor, at one point? Back when you were younger? Charlie mentioned that."

Bea felt her mouth thin out at the mention of him. "Harold. Yes."

"Were you intimate?"

Had she been drinking something she would have choked on it. "No. He kissed me once. Badly."

That made Anja laugh. "Your mother is not like my mother, and seems highly unlikely simply hand her unmarried daughter a diaphragm and a lecture. I thought I'd open the topic, your family seems very fertile."

"She made an attempt, when I started courting. And I've been privy to enough married sister conversations to know the general idea." Bea paused. "Your mother once asked me if I had sapphic tendencies."

Anja looked at the ceiling. "Of course she did. My mother is a subscriber to your theory about sex being healthy, and I think she can't imagine why one would do without."

"In retrospect, my life might be easier if I was. I have received offers. And, frankly, I'm extremely curious as to what my family's reaction would be." She tilted her head. "I think we've strayed from your initial intent for the conversation."

"Yes. I imagine you will proceed with things slowly, but when relevant I can point you to a doctor who will provide contraception to unmarried women."

Bea nodded. "I appreciate your help, Anja. And your support."

She nodded. For a moment, she fiddled with the beading on her dress. "And be careful. With him, with other men. Even if they seem like gentlemen. Perhaps particularly so."

Based on her sudden nervous behavior, Bea suspected there was more to Anja's warning than friendly caution. She did not have the understanding or skills to handle exploring it, though. "I will be cautious," she assured her. "And armed."

Anja nodded. There was a knock on the door, and from the other side Charlie called, "Are you decent? And possibly even almost ready?"

"Oh, come in," Anja called. "All the garters are under wraps." The door swung open and her brother came in, looking rather debonair in his white tie. She watched him take in Anja's dress, coming close enough to reach up and touch one of her long sparkly earrings. Bea might as well have not been in the room at all. She wondered if Leo would look at her like that someday—like she was the only woman in the world.

Then her brother said, "You look like a mermaid with no waist."

"Is that a compliment?" Anja asked. Bea pinched her nose. Her brother was an idiot.

"Mermaids are supposed to be gorgeous," he said defensively. 

She rolled her eyes. "At least you didn't say fish. My father told me it looked like fish costume."

"Mr. Barton is not known for his tact," Bea commented.

"Well," Anja said, patting his lapel. "You look like a penguin."

"I don't have much choice in outfit."

"Fair enough. Is the car ready? Shall we depart?"

Charlie nodded. He looked over at Bea. "Oh. You look very nice. Like a girl."

She sighed and tamped down on her exasperation. "Thank you." She scooped up the little beaded clutch she'd bought while out with Anja. "Let's go."

They were driven by the family chauffeur, to a mansion that would have been impressive if she hadn't been raised in one. There was a long line of cars, and a long stream of fancily dressed moving from the drive to the doors.

Charlie offered Anja his arm as they walked up, then seemed to remember Bea’s existence and offered her his other elbow. She decided it was better than nothing and took it as they walked up to the doors.

The three of them went into an elaborate hallways. She could see Anja casing the room in that way she had. Suddenly her smile changed. She caught Bea's eye and pointed discretely. Bea turned to see Leo coming towards them.

He looked positively divine in his white tie. She released Charlie's arm when he reached them, smiling widely at him. He grinned back at her, and for a moment maybe she did feel like the only woman in the world. She'd gotten a lot of looks from those around her since putting on the dress. Mostly surprise and amusement. Mostly making her feel like it was a funny costume.

Leo looked at her like she was beautiful.

"Miss Barton, Mr. Stark, Dr. Stark," he said with a slight bow. That was also absolutely, unequivocally, the first time anyone had ever called her _Doctor_ in a social setting.

She would not cry. She would absolutely not burst into tears because this son of a butcher - an admitted criminal - treated her like more of a person than anyone in her class ever had. She ducked a little curtsey. "Mr. Torrente. It's good to see you again."

"Likewise. Your gown is lovely." He glanced at her brother, and then added, "As is yours," to Anja.

"I've heard it resembles fish, or a misshapen mermaid," she replied, clearly baiting Charlie.

Leo grinned, and spread his hands. She noticed used his hands a lot when he talked. "Perhaps you are Salacia, the Roman goddess of the sea."

Anja pointed at him. "I like you."

"We should mingle," Charlie said and Bea hid a smirk. Jealousy could be rather hilarious when painted all over her brother.

"The gambling tables are already in full swing."

"Will they let me play on my own?" Bea asked and heard Charlie groan a little.

Leo inclined his head, and offered her his arm. "There are advantages to knowing the owner of them."

She grinned, slipping her arm through his.

"Don't get kicked out of the party," Charlie said with what sounded like resignation.

* * *

To be continued in our next installment: _Secrets Shared and Promises Kept_


	11. Secrets Shared and Promises Kept

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the irregular posting schedule. We're running low on buffer and trying to make it last.

Anja tucked her hand in Charlie's elbow as he watched his sister walk away. "Don't fret," she said. "She will be fine."

"She's going to sleep with that guy and there's nothing I can do about it, is there?"

"Possibly." She squeezed his arm. "She deserves to be happy. Even if it makes you a little uncomfortable."

He sighed. She was right. Bea had gotten the short end of the stick in a lot of ways. There were worse things that could happen to her. At least Torrente seemed a decent enough man. "Doesn't mean I don't need a drink."

"I will procure that for you. Maybe I'll even spin you around on the dance floor, if you're especially nice to me."

"I'll summon all of my considerable Stark charm," he told her with a smile.

They got drinks. They watched Bea play a couple of hands of blackjack before Torrente herded her away lest someone notice the card counting. There wasn't anything suspicious going on, so they mingled and observed. 

"This is kind of boring," he told Anja in a stage whisper.

She leaned a little closer. "Maybe it's time for that dance. I hear you know how to waltz."

He looked down at her, fighting the sudden urge to drag her into a corner and kiss her. He gave himself a little shake. Too many drinks. "I am an excellent waltzer," he informed her, tucking her arm into his and leading her towards the dance floor.

She put her arms around him and they swung into the dance. The back of her dress dipped quite low, and if he moved his hand upwards, he could touch bare skin. Her headband and jewelry and beaded dress all flashed and sparked in the light as they moved. It made her look. . .magical.

He knew he was staring, but he couldn't help it. He shifted his hand, ever so slightly, and his thumb brushed the skin of her back, warm and soft under his calluses. She looked up at him when she felt the touch, and he saw her shiver, just a little. This, whatever it was, she felt it too. He tightened his arm, drawing her closer to his chest. He lowered his head a little, so he could breathe in her scent. She tipped her face up, and he very nearly kissed her. It was as close as he'd come since that day in the middle of a battlefield.

Someone bumped them on the crowded dance floor, making her glance away, and the moment shattered. He sighed and let the disappointment show on his face. Sometimes he thought he had to be cursed.

Anja must have seen something, because she stopped dancing. He assumed it was trouble, and he followed her gaze, pulling her to the edge of the dance floor. It took him a minute to see what she was looking at. . . which turned out to be someone they'd known from the war. He was one of the guys who'd manned the makeshift bar in their part of the camp—and if Charlie remembered correctly, he and Anja had had a bit of a thing.

Yes. Charlie was in fact absolutely cursed.

He looked back at her to see she had gone absolutely white. The question he'd been about to ask died on his tongue and he touched her shoulder. "Anja? What is it?"

She shook off his hand. Her breath was coming fast, and she swallowed a couple of times. She looked, actually, like a perfect visual representation of how a crowded room made him feel.

It was a feeling, at least, he could understand. He scanned the room, then leaned down to say in her ear. "Behind you, five o'clock. French doors. Fresh air."

She backed up, not looking at him, before turning and heading out the doors like a bullet. She made no attempt at manners, literally pushing people who were in here way—so they got themselves quite a bit of attention. He jogged after her, and got outside just in time to see her heading right off the veranda and onto the small lawn beside the mansion.

He hesitated a brief moment. Obviously, she wanted to be alone. Something inside had spooked her terribly. Maybe it would be best to give her space to deal with it. Then he thought about trying to explain to the Bartons how he had lost their daughter. So he took off after her, onto the lawn.

He could see her wiping her eyes, clearly she was crying. When he got close enough she could sense him, she called out, "Go away."

He stopped where he was, hands in his pockets, but didn't leave. "What happened?"

All the got him was a shaken head. Instead she said. "I have to go. I'm going to flag a cab. You can go back to the party."

"Anja, talk to me. I've never seen you do anything like this. Please."

"I'm sorry," she said. "I fucked up. I probably blew the whole op. I'm sorry." She sniffled, and finally looked over at him. "But I can't stay here. I have to go."

He watched her a minute, tear stained and so very un-Anjalike. And he came to an immediate decision. "I'll come with you."

She hesitated, and then she nodded. He walked her around the front, and found his chauffeur. Reluctantly he left Anja to wait for the car while he sprinted inside to tell Bea. She seemed to be enjoying herself at the roulette table, Torrente hovering a few feet behind her.

Charlie slid in next to her. "Something's wrong with Anja. I'm taking her home." He didn't think that was entirely true, he doubted home was where she wanted to go right now.

Bea glanced back at Torrente, then at him. "Do you need me to-"

"No." He looked over at Torrente and sighed, resigned. "Try to finish the mission. At least keep your eyes open for anything weird. I'm sure Mr. Torrente can figure out how to get you home later."

Bea nodded, thought she looked worried. He squeezed her arm. Then he walked over to Torrente, and decided he didn't have time for manners. "I have an emergency. Please escort my sister home." He looked him in the eye. "You're a gangster. I am _Iron Man_. Capish?"

Torrente inclined his head. "Understood, _Capo_."

He was getting better at this threat thing. He made his way through the crowd, back to Anja and the car. He was extremely relieved she hadn't left without him. When they got in the car, she sat about as far from him as she could without crawling out the window, pressing herself into the corner and staring out the window. Not sure what to do, he told the driver to take them to the Tower.

He escorted her to the elevator, then up to his penthouse all without touching her or getting any closer to her then he had to. Once they were at his place he went to the sidebar and poured her a very large drink. 

She took it from him and sat on the couch, seeming a little steadier. "Thank you." She took a long drink. "God, I'm sorry, Charlie." She took her earrings off, and pulled the headband out of her hair, tossing them onto coffee table.

"It's all right," he said quietly, sinking on the other end of the couch from her. "I've been that kind of panicked. I get it. What I don't get is what set it off."

She glanced at him. "Scars of the war?"

"In a ballroom?"

She closed her eyes and took a shaky breath. Her voice was very quiet. "I can't. . .I. . . You'll never look at me the same again."

"Anja. . . you're my best friend. Nothing you can say will change that."

Her chin trembled, and her mouth worked. She took another long drink. For a while she just stared out the windows. Then, finally, she spoke. "The man. I know you saw him. From the war." her voice was clipped, nearly monotone. As if she was just listing boring facts. "We were friends. He wanted more. I did not. So he took it." She closed her eyes. "I couldn't fight him off."

Charlie didn't think he could have been any more surprised if she had punched him. It was oddly hard to breathe. "When did - was this _during_ the war?" She nodded. "Did you tell anyone?"

"God no." She bent her head, and it took a moment for the gesture to register on him as shame. She was ashamed. "Tell people I can't even defend myself from a drunk, unarmed soldier? No."

" _Anja_." He reached out to touch her and realized it was probably a bad idea. He let his hand fall, settling on the couch between them. "Honey, it wasn't your fault."

"No, it was his fault. Because he's an asshole." That sounded very much like her. "But I still. . . I mean, what the hell kind of soldier did that make me? How could anyone trust me to watch their back in battle? I'm a fraud, Charlie. And a disgrace to my bloodlines." 

"Honey, you're _human_. You trusted him and he took advantage. Took you by surprise. Grappling with someone you thought was your friend is a hell of a lot different than a battle. It's not a disgrace." He paused. "I can't believe you've carried this around with you this long."

She wrapped her arms around herself. "Who would I have told?"

"Your mother? Syn? Me?"

"My parents would have sent my fragile, helpless ass home. And committed murder. Syn can't lie, and someone might have found out. And you. . ." She shrugged. "I didn't want you to treat me different. I liked you thinking I was still me. Looking at me like you thought I was strong." She finally looked at him, her makeup streaked on her face. He fought down a burst of rage, and grief. "And you had a lot of things going on and then George and your father. . ."

He tugged a handkerchief out of his picket and used it to wipe her face gently. She was probably right. Her parents would have sent her away. They'd have meant well, but it probably would have made things worse. And, at the very least, Syn would have told Loki and he'd have leveled the camp looking for this guy. There was one thing he needed to correct, though. "You are strong. You're so strong, Anja. One moment doesn't negate all of the amazing things you've done. You fought in a war. Helped rebuild a continent afterwards." He brushed some stray strands of hair out of her face. "You are the strongest person I know."

She turned her face into his hand, nuzzling it a little, and he stroked her cheek. Then, to his surprise, she leaned forward to wrap her arms around his waist and hug him. He folded his arms around her and held her tight, pressing her close. "It's why I didn't come home. I felt too broken."

He rubbed her back, stroked her hair. "How do you feel now? he asked softly.

She sniffled. "Like I've been glued back together but the pieces don't quite all fit properly."

"That's progress, I guess." He pressed a kiss into her hair. He knew the feeling, pieces not fitting. Coming home a different person and no longer wanting the life you'd left. He even knew about having something happen you were afraid to tell anyone about, lest they judge you.

With a little squeeze, he added, "I think a lot of us felt like that coming back."

She rested her head on his shoulder. She wasn't crying anymore, but seemed to like being held. "The violence of the battles didn't get to me the way it seems logical. Because I was fighting. I had weapons and adrenaline. It was scary, but it felt purposeful. I find myself haunted by being powerless. Being held down and trapped."

That sounded familiar, too. He sighed a little. It hurt, those old memories. As much as hers did. But she'd been honest with him. And if it made her feel a little better, a little less weak, then it would be worth it. "When I was shot down, behind the lines, the Badoon swarmed me. Trying to get the suit off, I think. They was a dozen of them. Hands everywhere. There was nothing I could do."

Her arms tightened, and she whispered, "Charlie." Her voice carried sympathy and understanding.

"It's not about strength," he told her. "We all have those moments. When you wish you'd done something different. Sometimes there's nothing you can do."

She nodded. She was quiet a bit before saying, "I sent Loki to you. That day. But I'd have fought my way over if I had to myself. Or died trying."

"I know you would have," he said softly, kissing her temple again. "I'd do the same for you."

She leaned back and looked up at him. "We're having a round of honesty here, aren't we Charlie?"

"We certainly seem to be, yes." He brushed her hair off her cheek. "You have more confessions?"

"More of a question." She bit her lip. "Did we miss our chance, you and I?"

He tipped his head back to look at her more fully, studying her face. He thought of the kiss in a war zone. How happy he'd been when she came back. The easy, intimate friendship they'd forged. He smiled and stroked her cheekbone. "No. I don't think we did. As long as we're both alive we have a chance, right?"

Her eyes shone and she gave a little watery laugh. "We are very stubborn people."

"It's in the blood. Wouldn't have made it this far if we weren't."

She reached up, rather hesitantly, to touch his face. Her fingers traced from his temple to his jaw. "I don't want to be friends anymore."

He grinned widely and touched her chin. "Good," he murmured, then bent close and kissed her. It was just like it had been, all those years ago, only without the surprise or the fear. They fit together perfectly, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

He stroked her jaw, cradled her face, kissing her with all the affection and tenderness he had for her. Had carried around for years. She met him, she shared it. It was like an entire conversation, questions and answers and promises, all without words.

After a long time he lifted his head and rested his forehead on hers. He stroked her hair and cuddled her close. "Hello," she whispered with a smile.

"Hi, there," he replied, kissing the tip of her nose. 

Her smile widened into a grin. Then she slid out of his arms and stood up. She held her hand down to him. He curled his hand into hers, but hesitated a moment. "You're sure?"

"As sure as I've ever been of anything."

He stood then and slid an arm around her waist. He kissed her quickly before leading her back towards the bedroom.

*

Anja had long ago acquired the habit of putting in her diaphragm before she went out on an op like this, because you never knew what could happen. She was, now very grateful for that. 

She watched him walk over and switch on the bedside lamp. When he turned back to her, she reached up to untie his bow tie. He watched her a moment, eyes dark and intense. Then he shrugged out of his jacket, tossing it in the general direction of his closet. He caught one of her hands as she finished with the tie and brought it to his mouth to kiss her fingertips. She smiled at him, and used the other hand to unbutton his waistcoat. When that was off, she took to all the little fiddly bits. His collar, cufflinks and shirt studs. She pushed the suspenders off his shoulders.

He finished off his shirt and shrugged it off, down his arms, reveling lean wiry muscle with a scattering of red hair. The shirt went the way of his jacket and he tugged her close again, pressing her against his skin to kiss her again.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, and murmured, "The beads must be scratching you."

His big hands stroked down her back. "A little. But I really enjoy this dress." He cupped her ass and pulled her even closer. "My mermaid."

"So it was a compliment?" She pushed one strap of her shoulder, letting it slide down her arm. "I admit the current fashions hide my waist."

Fingers trailed the strap, lightly, but his engineer's calluses made her shiver. "It was intended as a compliment," he confirmed. "You were enchanting this evening."

She slipped the other strap, the weight of the beads pulling the whole thing down to reveal her rather improvised backless breast supporter. She had to peel off some tape, leaving red blotches on her very pale skin. 

He winced in sympathy. "Never mind. Maybe I'll keep you naked all the time."

She got it off, and pushed her silk drawers down. That dress had probably called for a girdle, but she hated them. Then she stepped back to sit on the side of the bed to untie her garters and roll her stockings down. He stopped her, hands covering hers as he kneeled in front of her. He untied the ribbons slowly, then looked up and held her gaze as he slowly rolled the silk stocking down, warm rough fingers dragging along the skin of her leg.

When the stockings were off, he bent and dropped a warm, damp kiss on one thigh, then the other. She shivered and leaned back a little. He ran his hands up her calves. "You have very smooth skin," he murmured.

She didn't know why she felt compelled to share her odd compulsion with him, but she said, "I shave them."

He looked up. "Your legs?"

"Arms, too." She held them out for his inspection. "I used to even do the, er, carrot patch, but it's kind of uncomfortable and I've mellowed over the years."

His hands roamed her legs again. "Why?"

"The Badoon were fascinated by it, to a degree that was a little creepy. And, afterwards, the less hair, the less lice. It got to be some sort of compulsion. I don't feel clean unless I do it." She shrugged, feeling embarrassed. "One of those odd methods of coping with the demons."

He nodded. "There are worse things," he said. He cupped her thighs again, sliding up ever-so-slowly. "Carrot patch," he added with an arched brow.

She chuckled, watching him. His touch was melting her, and she opened her legs further for him. "Most men seem surprised to find it matches my head."

"That's why you like me. The one man unawed by your red hair."

"Do women also expect you to be brunette below the waist?"

"Often." His hands had reached the apex of her thighs and he could feel his fingers stirring her curls. "I get less surprise and more confusion. I suppose there's less red haired men to compare me to." He stroked her, barely brushing her lips, before pressing firmer, exploring her folds.

She watched his hand. She supposed it was an odd thing to do, but she liked seeing what he was doing to her. Seeing it made it better. And he touched her like she was a fragile, precious thing—or perhaps the neatest gadget anyone had ever given him.

He bent forward and kissed her breast, laving her nipple with his tongue. At the same time he found her clit with his thumb and circled it. She had the sense he was focused on her with every bit of his brain, waiting for signs - no matter how small or subtle - to guide him in pleasing her. His thumb continued circling as his fingers dipped lower, finding her entrance.

It felt good, so she gasped, arching closer in encouragement. He sucked on her nipple and she clutched at him. _That._

He chuckled, a low rumble in his chest she swore she felt in her own. He moved to her other breast and showed that nipple the same attention. His fingers began to move inside her, two of them, stroking back and forth. She rocked against him, showing him the rhythm she liked, and he picked it up immediately. Her eyes fluttered, and she whispered, "You're brilliant."

He kissed the underside of her breast. "I know," he murmured into her skin.

She leaned back further as he kissed her sternum. "Don't be smug."

"Very few things in life a man can be smug about." He kissed the base of her throat, shifting over her, hand still teasing. "Making a beautiful woman fall to pieces is one of them."

Something about him calling her beautiful made her throat close. Maybe because she could tell he really believed it, about things more than just how she looked. "Well, then," she told him. "Shatter me."

Another chuckle. "Yes, ma'am." He continued dropping kisses on her skin, spoiling her breasts again. By the time she noticed he was definitely headed in a southern direction his mouth had joined his hand, tongue taking over for his thumb.

"Holy shit," she gasped, because it felt too good to bother with decorum. She dug her hands into his hair and rocked a little, getting utterly lost in it. She whispered and then begged and then cried encouragement. Everything faded away, but this, and them. And then shatter she did.

When the blood stopped roaring her ears and she remembered how to think she opened her eyes to find him sitting on the bed by her hip, undressing in jerky, impatient, careless movements. "You earned your smug," she told him.

He looked back at her and gave an admittedly cocky grin. "You're welcome," he told her, standing to shed his slacks. He stood over her, naked, and she sat up, reaching out to flatten her hand on his abdomen. 

She dragged her fingers down along the trail of hair. "It does match."

His muscles twitched and she heard his breathing change. He put a knee up on the bed and bent to kiss her, a little rougher than before. She wrapped her hand around his cock, stroking him slowly, feeling his reaction in the kiss. She leaned back, encouraging him to come with her. He did so, nudging his other leg between hers. He slid a hand under her head, tangling his fingers in her hair. He kissed her for a long time, letting her explore him, before shifting and rolling them over so she was on top of him.

Anja lifted her head, pushed up to look down at him. She always maneuvered men into letting her be on top. He was the first man she'd trust to be beneath. To let him have power over her. And he was the only one who didn't ask her to. But she didn't know how to express that, how to tell him what that meant, so she just kissed him again instead.

He buried the hand in her hair again, holding her to him. The other slid down her back to grip her hip and tug encouragingly. She straightened, looking down so she could see what she was doing when she lifted up and slowly fit him inside her. If she thought about it for a moment it was a little crazy they were doing this. Her and Charlie. But she needed it. Needed him. To remind her she was alive, and chase the ugly memories away.

The way he looked at her took her breath away. Like she was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. Like he couldn't believe she was real. He stroked her things, skimmed up her ribs to cup her breasts, hefting their weight, teasing her nipples into peaks. Then his hands settled on her hips, supporting her, as he always had, without trying to control.

She couldn't find the words to tell him how she felt, but she hoped he could feel it. She moved, slowly and then faster, rocking against him. She wanted him to feel good. His lids fluttered a few times and his hands tightened on her skin as her pace increased. His hips began to lift up to her and he murmured softly to her. Encouragement. Praise. Silly nothing words that meant the world to her. 

He moved one hand, his thumb pressing her clit in small circles. She began to lose herself in it, feeling a second explosion gathering. It was harder to keep track of the pace, despite the desperation she could feel in him. Close, she was so close. She leaned forward and whispered, "Flip us."

He groaned and his arms slid around her, hands flattening on her back. He moved them, rolling her beneath him and bracing his elbows beside her head. He bent to kiss her as he started to move, thrusting deep into her again and again.

That was all it took—the angle, the friction—and everything twisted and turned inside her, and the pleasure took her breath away. He groaned, obviously feeling the change in her, the clench of her muscles around him. He moved erratically for a few moments, pressing her into the mattress. Then he shuddered and clutched at her, the heat of his release pouring into her. She wrapped her arms and legs around him, wanting to hold him as close as she could.

She stroked his hair, and then his back, running her fingers along his spine. His weight pressed her into the mattress, but it didn't scare her. He made her feel safe. After a moment he shifted and pressed soft, tender kisses on her face and throat. "Hi there."

"Hello. Did we really just do that?"

He made a contented noise, nuzzling her shoulder. "I think we did."

She felt compelled to state the obvious. "It was really good."

That got her a chuckle. "That it was." He found her mouth and kissed her. "Thank you."

She ruffled his hair. "Now why are you thanking me?"

"Because it was really good. Because you trusted me."

"Of course I trust you. I trust you more than anyone else in the world." She paused. "But you are kind of heavy." 

"Right. Sorry." He shifted off her, sprawling onto his back and stretching widely. "This was a surprisingly good night."

"Mixed with a little emotional upheaval." She lifted her head. "What happened to Bea? Do we need to go back?"

"No. I told Torrente to see her home. And I am absolutely not going to think about anything else that might happen before that."

She folded her hands on his chest and rested her chin on them. "My mother believes sex is healthy and normal, and was so convinced you and I were about to start doing it she gave me a diaphragm before I had entirely gotten over the concept being gross. After the war, I spent a stretch of time being rather free with my affections in an attempt to prove I had control over my own body."

He rubbed her back lightly, tucking his other hand behind his head to look at her. "I assumes that's why I was not asked to pull out or find a condom or the like?"

"Yes. But that's actually not the thing I was getting to. What I was going to say was, I am a much faster woman than your sister, and even I wouldn’t take my clothes off after a single social encounter. So don't worry so much."

That got her a little smile. "She's my little sister. I have to worry."

"If you give me credit for strength, you should do the same for her."

"I know she's strong. And smart. And resourceful, I know she can handle whatever happens, whatever life throws at her. But I also know she feels things very strongly. She's never had her heart broken. I want to protect her."

"I know you do." She settled her head on his chest again, and flattened her hand on his stomach. "You and I, we could hurt each other so badly the pieces would never fit back. But I find this worth the risk."

He stroked her hair, down her back. "That's true."

"I was thinking of going and sitting in the perch for a while," she told him. "Would you like to come with me?"

He made a thoughtful, humming noise, then nodded. "Let me find pants."

Anja borrowed some of his pajamas, and they took a couple blankets up since it could be chilly. It was quiet and dark, the city laid out in front of them. "You ever wonder who we'd be without the war?" 

"You and I? Probably married. Couple of kids. If we could have kept from killing each other."

"My parents have a practice room in the house. They'd go down there to spar, or to yell and hit the punching bags when they were fighting. I learned to never, _ever_ go down there to see why is was suddenly silent."

He laughed. "Yeah. Mom and Dad aren't quite that bad. But there's a reason he grins when she gets mad at him. And why I have a dozen siblings."

"Ours would have all been redheads." She could almost see it, if she closed her eyes. They'd be full of mischief, too.

"Yeah. There'd be no avoiding that."

"I'm sorry for the time we missed," she said quietly.

He wrapped his arms around her, tucking the blanket closer to her. "We were young and the war caused a lot of damage to us both. I'd rather appreciate the time we have now."

"I kind of like this us. Maybe it's better. Worth the wait."

"Absolutely." He kissed her gently. "We can make it work."

She snuggled against him, and for a long time they were quiet, just looking out at the view. She hadn't thought this much about the war, and about what happened to her, in a while now. But it was good. Like cleaning out an infected wound. "It was good to finally tell someone," she said finally. 

"Thank you for trusting me. I'm sorry you had to see that guy again."

"I didn't know he was in New York." The thought of seeing him again made her sick. "Maybe I should kill him."

His hand shifted to stroke her hair, gentle and soothing. "Can I ask why you didn't do it then?"

"Earlier tonight? Because I was too busy panicking. Also, it was a big crowded room."

"I meant more during the war. When you were armed and a disappearance wouldn't have been unusual."

"At first all I could think about was getting away, and washing him off me. And then I felt weak and useless and. . . it was a very dark time. In any case, I never saw him again. My guess is, he woke up in the morning, realized he'd be dead just as soon as I told anyone, and deserted. Would have been true, if I'd told anyone. If he was very lucky, Daddy would have gotten there first. He'd have shot him from across camp. I think my mother would have cut his nuts off and stapled them to his face before killing him."

"That's a very good point." He kissed her hair, her temple. "Whatever you want to do, I'm behind you," he told her sincerely.

She looked up at him. "The same to you. If you wanted to ditch this place and go build dishwashers. If you want to never wear the suit again. I will still have your six."

He smiled faintly. "Thank you. Though I suppose I should tell you. . . I haven't worn the suit since the war."

Anja blinked in surprise. She had _seen_ him in the suit. She'd fought with him, there was a street riot just a couple of months ago. "Don't tell me it's been your father. Please. My mother will beat him to death with his cane. Also, last time I made a _really_ off-color joke. Seriously, Charlie, it was about buggery."

He laughed so hard his head tipped back. "Oh, that explains so much," he muttered. He grinned at her. "It was Bea."

She was both very surprised, and not surprised at all. "Holy shit."

"We retrofitted the inside to fit her better. Lots of leather and cotton padding. Changed the helmet design enough I could claim the faceplate didn't lift up easily anymore and that was that. It started out as a one time thing, I just wasn't ready to get back into it. But she enjoys it and is, in some ways, a better fighter than me. So. . . she kept doing it."

She'd been about to comment that the mystery of a claustrophobic building a suit with a non-opening faceplate finally being solved. "Does my mother know? Does anyone?"

Charlie shook his head. "Not that I know of. Bea's paranoid our parents will find out and lock her up at home. Mom doesn't even know she was in the Last Battle during the war."

"I wish I'd known. Sometimes I hold back comments that would horrify you, that would probably make Bea laugh."

His brow went up. "Girly things?"

"Women deal with a lot of blood." That got her the expected wrinkled nose, and she laughed. He retaliated with some tickling.

"Don't tell anyone," he said when they'd reached a truce. "It means a lot to her to be able to do it."

"I think it's fantastic, and I won't tell a soul." She sighed. "But you guys have got a whole lot of deception going on. You really might want to give some thought to that."

"I know." He sighed. "It's all going to come to a head soon. But we have to both be ready to deal with it and I don't think she is yet. It's not a decision I can make for her."

"Maybe her new friend will help."

"Maybe," he conceded, sounding reluctant. That big brother instinct was hard to shake, apparently.

She kissed him, putting a little heat into it. "You help me."

He groaned softly, hands sliding over her. "I'm very glad to hear that."

Anja leaned back. "I had no faith in myself, for a while there. But you seemed to believe in me, and that was enough."

A smile split his face, wide and slightly cocky. "I've never doubted you."

"Likewise." She leaned in to kiss him. "You know, when I used to let myself have dirty thoughts about you, I usually pictured us up here."

He kissed along the line of her throat. "Why Miss Barton. Is that a request?"

She chuckled, not remembering the last time she felt this happy. "Damn straight, Mr. Stark."

* * *

To be continued in our next installment: _Impossible Conversations_


	12. Impossible Conversations

The party went on until two in the morning. It was still going on in some parts of the house, actually, but two was when Leo was able to shut the casino down. There was still a great deal of work to be done, supervising the breaking down of the tables and equipment, and packing all of his liquor up.

Once the last guest was out and the doors closed he went and found his charge in her sparkly purple dress—which sincerely might have been the prettiest dress he'd ever seen. "I can have someone take you home, but I can't leave until we're packed up."

"I'll wait for you," she said immediately. "No one will be waiting up, they think I'm with Charlie." She glanced around at the chaos. "I could help."

"You're not dressed for labor." He grinned at her, because she made a face at him. "I could use someone to collect and reshuffle all the cards."

"I can do that, but it's well beneath my skill set." She grinned to show she was teasing and headed towards the tables.

"Welcome to my world, _principessa_ ," he replied, and watched her walk away. He tried not to stare at her when she was looking at him, but he relaxed the rules when she wasn't. He ran a high-end speakeasy, and had gorgeous, scantily-clad women paraded in front of him every night. He didn't know why this prickly genius with her rosewood-colored hair had gotten to him so. She threatened to electrocute him and then gave him a chemistry lesson, and now he couldn't stop thinking about her.

She gathered up the cards from several tables and stood at one, turning them face side up to reshuffle. Her fingers moved swiftly and efficiently, the way they did when she'd been building their still. She'd make a good dealer. Up until she started lecturing players on their strategies. The thought made him grin and he shook himself to focus on what he needed to be doing.

Packing up took so long that by the end he had concocted himself an entire mental list of the ways in which her brother was going to kill him. For something he had not even done.

He wished, not for the first time, that the world was a different place.

Bea hid a yawn when he finally tracked her down again. She had a deck of cards she was idly shuffling, as if her hands needed something to do. "It's missing a card," she told him. "So I didn't pack it with the others."

"Let me guess, an ace?" He held his hand out for her. "I'm sorry this took so long."

She took his hand, standing. "Ace of hearts, actually. And it's all right. I entertained myself."

He'd had her coat brought up earlier, and scooped it off the chair so he could help her into it. When she turned, he had the wild urge to kiss the back of her neck. He didn't, of course. "My car is around back."

She was smiling when she turned back to him. Very deliberately, she reached out and slid her arm through his. "Lead the way."

They went down the back stairs, to where his car was in the drive. He watched the truck with his casino in it backing out, and then held the door for Bea. He had been exceedingly proud when he'd bought his Model T that summer. Literally the entire block had congregated in front of his house to kick the tires. His mother called it 'that fancy car'. But he'd seen her emerge from a long, chauffeured Rolls Royce and her brother drove a luxuriously appointed Duesenberg the hotel valets had raved about. So he said, "Sorry about the car."

She frowned in confusion and looked from him to the car a few times. "It looks fine to me."

It took him two tries to get it started, which was actually good, though it did backfire as they got moving. "I just meant I know it's not quite what you're used to."

The noise she made was extremely unladylike. "It's a car. It runs. Gets from point A to point B. I prefer a practical one to an expensive extension of one's manhood."

That made him smile. "I suppose someday you'll stop surprising me, but at the moment I kind of enjoy it."

"People don't usually think that's a good thing," she said quietly.

He glanced at her as he pulled out onto the street. "Most people are idiots. Honestly."

"You know, that's literally true in comparison to me. But they outnumber us and control societal expectations and norms." She gave a little smile. "So it's cold comfort."

"I love your frankness." The streets were quiet—too late for the evening crowds, but the morning had not quite begun yet. There were a few people scurrying off to very early shifts, but even the newspaper boys weren't out yet. It was as slow as New York City ever got. "Am I taking you to Stark Tower?"

She shook her head. "That's where Charlie sleeps. I suspect there's a good chance he won't be alone. You can take me home."

"How are you going to get into your house?"

"I've lived there my entire life, I know no less than four ways to sneak in without waking anyone or encountering a servant." She glanced down. "Two of them will be difficult in this dress."

Leo couldn't help but picture her climbing up a drainpipe in it. "I should never have doubted you."

She smiled at him in that way she had. Like he'd given her the best compliment in the world. They were silent a moment, then she said, "You've been a perfect gentleman tonight."

"That's because I was raised properly," he replied. "Despite your brother's paranoid imaginings." He winced. That probably sounded more bitter than he'd intended. "And you are a lady."

"Thank you." It sounded like an automatic response. Instinct from years of etiquette lessons. "I had hoped that my attire and casual manner would indicate that I wanted you to be less than gentlemanly with regards to me."

He'd noticed. He'd let his mind spin some very crazy, fanciful ideas for a good part of the night. But they really couldn't exist anywhere but in his head. "Manner and dress don't alter the respect a woman is due."

"That's very true. But a part of respect is listening to a lady's wishes and preferences." This with an almost flirtatious sidelong glance.

Abruptly, he pulled the car over to the side of the road and put it in park. He turned to face her. "Beatrice."

She turned as well, hands folded in her lap. "Yes, Leo?"

"You can't. . . This is impossible. We are impossible."

Something like grief crossed her face. Then she collected herself and stuck her chin out stubbornly. "I am thirty years old and you are the first man who has ever looked at me and actually _seen_ me. I am not likely to ever find that again. You understand me better than half of my own family. Don't tell me what's impossible. I'm very smart; nothing is impossible."

He looked out the windshield. "If I came to call on you, would your family even let me in the front door?"

"My mother was an Irish immigrant who dressed as a boy and cleaned chimneys before she met Papa. I will remind her of this fact, if I need to."

Leo turned to stare at her, surprised. Chimneys? He would not have guessed that. Still. "It's different going the other way around. Poor girl falling for a young, rich heir? It's a tragedy or a fairy tale, but either way it's romantic. Poor boy, rich girl is a cause to call the police. Your brother, who seems otherwise a reasonable man, is clearly convinced I am going to molest you the moment his back is turned. Even though I gave him my word I wouldn't. Though I am just a wop, so maybe it's worth less." 

Bea scowled. "Clearly I need to have an abrupt conversation with Charlie the next time I see him."

"I have sisters. If he thinks I'm nefarious, there isn't anything you can say. Trust me." He fought the urge to touch her. It was probably his only opportunity, and right now he wanted to more than anything in the world. 

She was quiet a moment, obviously thinking. "I suppose you could just get me pregnant. That does seem to be the answer to every problem in my family."

He looked up, startled. "Absolutely not!"

"I was being facetious," she said soothingly. "Mostly."

Now his brain was busy picturing the _getting_ part and he was having a whole hell of a lot of trouble shutting it off. She'd probably cook up some scientific formula to make for the best sex it was mathematically possible for two people to have. 

He needed to stop thinking about that. She was watching him, her usually expressive face hard to read. "I don't want you to think I don't want you," he said quietly. 

"I don't doubt that," she said, just as soft. "Your pupils are dilated and there's diminished blood flow to your hands. I'm just frustrated that you won't act on it. I don't know how to be aggressive in this area."

Reflexively, he looked at his hands. He pondered what it would be like to spend the rest of his life listening to her little bits of trivia sprinkled into his day.

Right. In his little place in Brooklyn. With the stove that didn't always work and the cracked linoleum. 

He couldn't resist anymore, so he reached out and took one of her hands, folding it in his. "I don't want to just have an affair. You. . .you deserve better than that."

Her fingers curled over his palm. He looked at her face and for an awful moment he thought she might be about to cry. "I deserve a lot of things," she whispered. "I accepted a long time ago I wouldn't have them. I don't want to miss out on everything. On love, on intimacy. You're acting like- like it won't hurt me to just leave this here. I can't tell you how much it will hurt."

Even though he knew he shouldn't, he moved closer to her. He lifted his other hand and stroked her cheek. She turned her face into his hand. "The last thing I want is for you to be hurt."

She reached out and put her other hand on his knee. "We can figure this out. There has to be a way to make it work."

There wasn't. He was sure of that. But all he wanted was to make the sadness in her eyes go away. So he tugged her a little closer, and he kissed her. She made a soft little sound and very hesitantly kissed him back. He could feel her learning how, taking cues from him as he tasted her. He was as slow and gentle as he could be—at least until she opened her mouth and the kiss took off.

He let go of her hand to slide his arm around her, pulling her closer. She buried that hand in his hair and arched, pressing against him. She made a little sound that was half whimper, half groan, deep in her throat. When they paused just for air, he kissed her cheek, her nose, her eyelids. " _Mia bella principessa._ "

She smiled and curled her arms around him, pressing her face into the curve of his throat for a moment. "I love when you call me that."

He hugged her tight, something oddly more intimate about this contact. "It means beautiful princess." He kissed her shoulder. "I also think you are astoundingly brilliant. And a little strange, but I like that."

He could feel her smile against his skin. "That's good, because I doubt it will change."

For a moment he just felt content, holding her and stroking her back. It felt like the most natural thing in the world. "I certainly hope not."

"I may only get stranger," she admitted. 

He sighed. "I probably should get you home."

Her arms tightened briefly, then she leaned back a little so he could see her face. "I know," she said quietly. 

"I should tell you, your dress _has_ made me feel very un-gentlemanly."

She smiled widely. "Worth every penny, then."

He cleared his throat, hoping this wasn't too strange, but also thinking she liked honesty. "Though if you really want to torment me. . . you ought to wear your lab coat."

Her eyes widened, brows high. Then a very sexy smile curved her mouth. "I will keep that in mind."

He grinned. "Alright, _principessa_ , out of my lap before this gets embarrassing." 

"Yes, dear," she said, sounding almost obedient. She slid off him, tucking herself back on her side of the car.

He started the car up. This was going to end in disaster and heartbreak. But the part before that was probably going to be a hell of a lot of fun.

*

Anja managed to get home before dawn, which she was proud of. However, she'd forgotten her father and brother were going hunting that weekend, and so the house was up when she let herself in the back door in her evening gown and very mussed hair. Her mother was frying bacon, and her father was sitting at the kitchen table. 

She cleared her throat and tried a cheerful, "Good morning."

They both glanced over in unison. Her mother smiled. "Good morning, Anja. How was your night?"

"Quite nice." She could feel herself grinning, but seemed unable to control herself. 

Her mother watched a moment. "And how is Charlie?"

And now the grin at turned stupid. It was like a reflexive action. Too many orgasms. It was like being drunk. "He is excellent."

Her parents exchanged a look. For a moment, Anja was concerned her father was going to go for his bow. Then her mother said, "It's about damn time." And went back to her bacon.

"Seriously," her father said, making her turn and look at him. "I was starting to wonder if there was something wrong with that boy."

Now she stared. "Daddy?"

"I gave him my blessing seven years ago. The last two years I have not understood what you two were doing, but I'm glad you settled it."

"Am I in the right house?"

Her mother looked over her shoulder and pinned her with a look. "Darling, you're a grown woman, I know you've had men before. You and Charlie Stark have been circling each other so long the rest of us are dizzy."

She sighed. "It was—is complicated."

"We know," her father said. "Your mother and I circled each other for six years, Eyas." He stood up and kissed the top of her head. "Congratulations. I'm going to go roust your brother."

She watched him go, then turned back to her mother. "Would you like some bacon?" she asked. Anja nodded and sat at the table. She watched her mother fill plates before turning to ask, "How was the op?"

Anja sighed. That part was less worthy of grinning. "It didn't quite go as planned."

Mom sank into the chair next to her with her plate and coffee. "Is everyone all right?"

"As far as I know. But I kind of blew it. I . . . Something made me panic, and I left early. Charlie came with me." She picked up a piece of bacon, her appetite failing her suddenly. She wasn't very good at evading her mother when she wanted information. But it had happened. She was going to have to explain it at some point.

Her mother ate in silence a moment. "Do you want to tell me about it?"

"I assume you would want justification as to why I walked off in the middle of an op."

"I would love an explanation, yes. But I know you have your demons that you hide even from me. And I would be a hypocrite if I tried to pry it out of you before you're ready."

She moved the bacon around her plate. Seeing him, and telling Charlie had taken the cork out of this particular bottle. Ripped the scab off the wound. Whatever metaphor worked. She felt exposed and raw. And a little bit like she wanted her Mommy to put her arms around her and make it all better. "After the boys go."

She nodded and reached over to touch her cheek. "I've nowhere I'd rather be."

Her father came back downstairs with Greg. She got a hug and her mother got a kiss, and he asked her again if she was sure she didn't want to come with them. A day shooting in the woods sounded absolutely wonderful, to be honest. But she had work to do. They said goodbye to the men and retired to her mother's sitting room with a pot of tea and a bottle of vodka. Her mother didn't say a word, just let her go at her own pace.

Anja told her what had happened, as crisp and controlled as she had been when she told Charlie. Basic facts. She kept her eyes trained on her cup. She also told her about walking for hours in search of that stream to bathe in, and about visiting Syn. The after hadn't really occurred to Charlie, but she knew her mother would wonder. "I'm pretty sure Syn suspected, but she never really said anything."

She was still staring at her cup when her mother moved to sit next to her and wrapped her arms around her, stroking her head. "My poor girl," she murmured. "I wish you'd told me. I understand why you didn't. But I wish you had."

Anja hugged her tight, closing her eyes. "I was too ashamed. And scared."

She felt her kiss her hair. "You had nothing to be ashamed of. Nothing. That man doesn't deserve to breathe the same air as you."

"I agree wholeheartedly. I'm giving serious thought to shooting him, rather than share this island with him. But I was ashamed because. . ." she felt a lump in her throat. "You're both master fighters, and your daughter couldn't even fight off an unarmed drunk man."

Her mother leaned back to look at her. "Oh, darling." She cupped her face. "Everyone is weak sometimes. Everyone loses a fight, even your father and I. The only reason I am here to have this conversation with you is because he saved me a time or two when I couldn't handle a fight on my own. And vice versa. None of us here on Earth are unbeatable." She kissed Anja's head. "Even your uncle Steve loses a fight now and then."

"He wasn't a worthy opponent."

"Perhaps not. Maybe he was just lucky. That doesn't take away anything from you."

"I think I know that. Mostly. Took a long time to come around to it. A long time to feel like I'd earned. . .myself back."

Mom nodded and stroked her hair again. "It happens. Happened to me more than once. I wish I could have helped, but I'm very proud of you for finding your way back to us."

She thought of the surprise evident in Charlie's voice when she'd told him. "I guess I have done pretty well."

"I assume that's part of the reason you stayed in Europe after the war?"

"Yes. I need to be away from you all. Away from Charlie, too. He wanted to start something, and I was so messed up I'd have utterly ruined it. I wanted to be good and useful and prove I had value to the world and a way that did not involve fighting, which I felt I'd failed at."

"You did a lot of good," her mother said sincerely. "Your father and I were very proud of you, despite how much we missed you."

"I was proud of myself." She drank a little more vodka, it went with the conversation better than the tea. "Listen, when you tell Daddy about this—I can't ask you to keep it from him—you tell him that man is _my_ prey, not his."

That actually made her laugh. "I'll tell him."

"I told Charlie," she said after a moment. "And that's how we ended up. . ." She felt herself smiling again.

Her mother chuckled. "He's a good boy."

"He is. He. . ." She wasn't even sure what words she was looking for. How to possibly describe what she felt. "I have loved him most of my life." She hadn't expected to say that until the words came out, but it was true.

Mom's smile became warm and soft. "it's always strange when you first realize it. It grows for so long but still seems to hit you all at once."

"Seeing yourself through my eyes?"

"Oh, very much so. You're very much your father's girl, but there's a bit of me in there, now and again."

Anja leaned over and kissed her mother's cheek. "Thank you. I think at the moment I very much need a shower and a little sleep. Then I have to figure out how to un-bungle the Op I blew."

Her mother waved her off. "Go on with you, then. Let me know if you need another ear."

* * *

To be continued in our next installment: _Lunch Plans_


	13. Lunch Plans

On Monday morning, Charlie walked down to his office in the best mood he'd been in in ages. Maybe since before the war. Bea was teaching, so he had the lab to himself. He brought the pulley bow he was working on for Anja downstairs so he could work on it a bit. 

He got lost in the work for a long time, another thing that hadn't happened in years. It was becoming evident that he and Anja should have done what they did last night a long time ago. It changed his whole outlook on life. 

Yes, it had been a long time since he'd been with a woman, but this was more than that. 

He was so lost in his thoughts and his work that he didn't notice he had company until the throat clearing penetrated. Steve Rogers was standing in front of his bench. He held up his shield. "Needs paint."

Charlie could feel a smile spread across his face. "You go through paint jobs like Lillian used to go through sweets, Cap."

"It's the metal. And, people shoot at me." He set it on the bench. "How have you been?"

"Good," he said, with far more enthusiasm than he would have a few days ago. He put down the bow and went to go dig out the shield paint. "How are you? How's Jo?"

"Good. We're in from Nantucket for a bit, there may be some trouble brewing." He grinned. "Also, we're having a baby."

The paint cans clattered as Charlie whirled back to look at him. "Seriously?" He went over to give Steve a hug, slapping his back. "Do my folks know? They're gonna want to throw you a party."

Steve ducked his head. "Haven't told many people yet-- we wanted Syn to confirm what was we thought was going on was actually it. Loki and Syn know. I told Nat. Feel free to disseminate among the Starks if I don't see your father first."

"That's generally how such things work." He tilted his head, trying to picture Jo pregnant. "How's she taking it?"

"Well enough. She's suddenly revolted by all fish, which made it pretty hard to feed her out on the island. So I'm glad to be back in New York."

Behind him, the lab door opened, and Anja strode in. Charlie felt something tighten and warm in his chest at the sight of her. He was probably grinning like an idiot. "Hello, Miss. Barton."

She grinned back at him, looking as happy to see him as he was her. He'd wondered if this particular morning would be awkward or uncomfortable, but she walked towards him with that same smile on her face, and was almost at his side before she even seemed to notice Steve. She wiggled her fingers in greeting, and then leaned up to kiss Charlie on the mouth.

That certainly answered his wonderings about how 'out' they were going to be at work.

He kept an arm around her waist as she leaned back. "Steve and Jo are in town for a while. With big news."

"My mother told me." She let go of Charlie to hug Steve. "Congratulations."

"Same to you, it looks like." He gave Charlie a thumbs-up behind her back.

His face was going to split open if he did stop smiling. "Thanks." Anja returned to his side, and tucked herself against him. She fit absolutely perfectly there. 

"Anyway," Steve said. "We'll be in town for a spell. Once we get settled back into the house, we'll have everyone over for dinner."

"You finally going to get electricity with the baby coming?" Anja asked.

He rolled his eyes as he headed for the door. "People raised babies without electricity for millennia. I'll be back tomorrow for the shield."

Charlie waited until the door slammed behind him. "Dare me to paint it pink and blue?"

Now that they no longer had an audience, she turned her body against his and wrapped both arms around him. She kissed along his jaw. "I think your judgement is impaired."

"Mmm. No, I'm pretty sure I'd think that was funny even with all the blood in my big head." He caught her mouth in a hot kiss. "I am my father's son, on occasion."

They kissed for a while. They had a lot of time to make up for. Eventually she murmured, "Good morning."

"Good morning. How has your day been so far?"

Her smile dimmed a little, and she sighed. "Apparently a big mob boss died yesterday. He was at the party."

He tipped his head back and sighed. "Damn. No wonder they called the Rogers in."

"It's being described as natural causes, but my mother is suspicious. She's concerned it may start some sort of war."

"Bea's in class till the afternoon. I don't know what happened after we left."

She leaned on him. "I feel responsible. A little bit, anyway."

He rubbed her back gently. "There was no way to know. It could have happened just as easily with us there."

"I know. But I did panic and run." She pressed her face into his chest, and quietly added, "I told my mother."

Charlie pressed a kiss into her hair. "How did that go?"

"Good. I feel. . . freer, I think. You were right. It's an awful thing to carry alone."

"That's my girl. I assume from the PDA you told her about us, too?"

"I didn't have to. Apparently it was written on my face." She leaned back. "Daddy said he gave you his blessing during the war, and he was starting to wonder if there was something wrong with you."

"Gave me his-" He frowned and cast his memory back for every conversation he’d had with Clint Barton during the war. "Obviously I am not fluent enough is ‘stoic Victorian archer’ to have gotten the message."

"Maybe when he told you to look after me if he died?" She tilted her head. "Actually, letting you shoot my bow was probably pretty much 'welcome to the family' to him."

He grinned. "I do recall wondering at the time if it was some sort of mating ritual."

"My family is in favor of us, in any case." Her hands were moving over his arms, and his over her back. Apparently she couldn't stop touching him any more than he could stop touching her. 

"I haven't seen my family to tell them. But I have absolutely no doubt they'll be ecstatic."

She fiddled with his tie. "You know I almost came over here yesterday. But I didn't want to be, you know, that girl."

He arched a brow. "That girl?"

"Clingy, desperate, overeager, etc. Surely you've met her. Men like you are _magnets_."

"Ah. I could never think you were _any_ of those things. You come and see me whenever you like."

She smiled, and her eyes searched his face. "Tonight?"

"My place?"

She gave him a kiss full of promise. "I'll cook dinner."

Part of him really wanted to suggest they trade dinner for lunch and go upstairs right now. But that would probably be frowned upon. There was work to do. Bea would be coming by after her classes. Natasha might come in.

 Still, he was going to enjoy thinking about the possibilities.

"I can't wait," he told her. He let his hands wander a bit, because she didn't seem inclined to complain. 

"Mmmh," she murmured. "It's really too bad your lab isn't more private." She leaned back to look up at him. "I suppose it's now safe to confess I sometimes had naughty thoughts about you bending me over one of your work tables."

He was fairly certain his eyebrows hit his hairline. "Oh, _really_?"

She grinned at her, and chewed her lip in a way he wasn't sure was meant to be seductive, but sure as hell was. "You've never thought about that?"

"Oh, maybe once or twice." He reached behind her, bracing his hands on the lab table, caging her between him and it. "I'm more interested in your thoughts on the matter."

"Well, not during the day, obviously, but maybe sometime at night. . ."

"I do live right upstairs. I have all manner of access."

She turned her face up to kiss the underside of his chin. "Do you have secret stairs?"

He lifted a hand to tangle in her hair. "I could build some. Do you want me to build you secret stairs?"

The way she smiled at him made him want to build her a whole building. "I just want a way to slip upstairs without being noticed." She fiddled with the buttons on his shirt. "Because I don't think I can just go back to work now." 

"There are stairs, at least to the top Avengers level." He dipped his head to kissed the soft skin behind her ear. "After that, it's just a short elevator ride."

He could hear her breathing pick up, and she pressed her body closer to his. "Do you have any plans for lunch, Charlie?"

"If I did they have now completely fled my brain."

"I could cook you something."

Pushing off the table, he slid an arm around her waist. "I'd like that. I don't think I can wait until dinner to sample your cooking."

She backed away from him, toward the doors of the lab. "I can't cook for shit, you know."

He shrugged his lab coat off and followed her. "Honey, that's what I'm counting on."

Once they got up there, she insisted on actually making something for them to eat first. He thought it might be deliberate torment. The grilled cheese was less burnt that he expected considering she made it with his arms wrapped around her, unbuttoning her blouse and sliding his hand inside. "I'm going to make you eat this before I let you take off any more of my clothes."

"What if I'm not hungry?" he grumbled into her hair.

"Then you'll be staring at a congealing plate of bread and cheese while you watch me entertain myself."

He paused. "Am I staring at the sandwich or watching you touch yourself? Because one of those I can work with."

She put the sandwiches on a plate and carried them over to his dining table, sliding deftly out of his arms. Of course he followed. She put the plates down and he sank into a chair. "You're only using me for my lunch food," he accused.

"Maybe." She sat in the nearest chair and picked up her sandwich. She didn't bother to button her blouse back up. In fact, she was slowly undoing the rest of the buttons while she ate.

His sandwich disappeared in a few bites. He didn't taste it at all. She could have slipped poison in it and it would have been utterly successful. Chewing took longer than he would have liked, but he did get to enjoy a hell of a show. She stood up when he put the last bite in his mouth. She pushed the table back so she could stand in front of him. He swallowed and watched her hitch her skirt up and then slide her lacy silk drawers down. She kicked them away and leaned against the table. "Then again, maybe not."

He cupped her legs, sliding his hands up her thighs ever so slowly. "I suppose you could use me for my body as well," he offered.

She hopped up on the table, and he stood slowly. She reached out and pulled him closer by his tie. "You're on to me. Though to be specific it's really only one particular part of your body."

Unable to resist, he kissed her, hands slipping underneath her skirt. "Just one? I like to think I'm a whole package."

He could feel her fingers undoing his belt buckle. "Right now? Yes. Just the one."

"What about my mouth?" he asked. "Or my hands," he added as his fingers brushed her damp curls and slipped between her folds.

"Later. Next time." She rocked her hips, and now she had her hand inside his trousers. She groaned as much as he did when she curled her fingers around his cock. "I know you can feel how wet I am."

He certainly could. Just as she could certainly tell how hard he was. He kissed her again, moving his hand away and tugging hers away as well. He stepped closer, bracketed by her thighs, and dragged her as close to the table edge as he could. With a tilt of his hips he found her entrance and slid inside in one smooth thrust.

Anja leaned up to kiss him, and then nibble on his ear and whisper _very_ graphic encouragements to him. There was no way this would be anything but fast and rough, but that seemed just what she wanted. He pulled one of her legs up, cupping her thigh above her garter. She still had her stockings and shoes on.

The table rocked with the force of his thrusts. He dropped kisses on her face, her throat, murmuring his own encouragement right back to her. "Come for me, princess."

He could feel her whole body tremble. "I don't. . . take orders. . . from you," she gasped. 

Their relationship was going to be filled with quiet little battles of will. Fortunately, they both seemed to find it sexy. "Sure you do. From a particular part of me."

She made a sound, half laugh and half groan. "It speaks now?" She didn't give him time to answer, her face scrunching up and her breathing turning into pants. "Charlie," she whimpered. He could feel by how tight she was squeezing him that she was just barely holding on.

"That's it," he whispered. He tucked his hand between them, stroking her clit with two fingers. "Let me feel it."

She shook her head, and then he felt her break. She arched like a bow, every muscle taught, and then she shuddered and shook, crying out something incoherent. It was too much for him to take. He pounded into her roughly a moment before burying himself deep, shuddering his own release. 

She wrapped her arms and legs around him, and held him tight while they caught their breath, like she was trying to meld them together. "Thank you."

He kissed her shoulder. "You are very welcome."

* * *

To be continued in our next installment _On the Courting of Starks_


	14. On the Courting of Starks

Bea had an armload of papers to grade by Monday afternoon, and she contemplated not going to her workshop. It's wasn’t as if she had set hours. But she was a little worried about Anja, and wanted to talk to her brother.

And besides, Lillian had friends over and the squealing was unbearable. Whatever gene the other girls had that allowed them to enjoy such things Bea had not received it. Had apparently traded it for physics and math.

Charlie was in the back corner sanding down Captain Rogers' shield in preparation for a paint. That must mean the Rogerses were in town. Which probably meant something bad was happening. He waved when she came in and she took her things into the back room.

There was a package sitting on her desk. She glanced at it, noted it was addressed to her and labeled "Fragile/Lab samples". She didn't know what it was, but it wouldn't be the first time she'd ordered something from a catalog months before and completely forgotten. She'd open it later, she wanted to go talk to Charlie about whatever was going on. 

She was out in the main lab before it registered that the package had been addressed to _Dr. _Beatrice Stark. Nobody used that. Not even her, when she ordered things, because it seemed to confuse catalog people and cause delays.__

__In fact, only one person had called her doctor in years. Slowly, she turned on her heel and went back to her desk. She ran her fingers over the words, then started opening the box. Inside was a box of candies, and a bottle that was labeled Limoncello, though she had no idea what that was. There was a folded card, and all it said was, _Flowers seemed to obvious.__ _

__Her face was flushed with warmth and she was grinning like an idiot. She tucked the card into her breast pocket and tried one of the candies before going out to talk to Charlie._ _

__Charlie, for his part, was whistling while he carried the shield over to to table where the paints were set up. He flashed her a grin. "Good morning, Bea."_ _

__Well, if he was in that good a mood maybe he won't notice hers. "It's afternoon, now, Charlie."_ _

__That didn't even phase him. "Suppose it is. I've been wrapped up in my work." He patted the shield and grinned again. There was something about his manner that reminded her of who he'd been before the war._ _

__She studied him a moment, watched him walk around the lab a moment. Then she smiled and clapped her hands. "You had intercourse with Anja."_ _

__He fumbled the container he was holding and what smelled like turpentine sloshed onto the floor. When he looked over at her his face was a mixture of pride, embarrassment, and curiosity. "How could you possibly know that? And don't call it 'intercourse' for God's sake."_ _

__"Your mood is pleasant and not affected, so it's at least partially caused by endorphins. You're walking without any stiffness and your reach has increased by almost half an inch, all indications that you experienced orgasm in the last twenty four hours. As you left the party with Anja and you two have an attraction it was natural to assume you experienced it with her." She crossed her arms. "And what else could I possibly call it that wouldn't horrify you?"_ _

__He eyed her. "I can not believe I'm saying this to my little sister—but you know you don't have to have. . ." She could see him struggle for a word. Probably because all the words men used were much more vulgar than intercourse. "That is, you don't really need a. . ." He shook his head, clearly deciding that masturbation was not on their acceptable topic list, which was fine with her. "Yes," he said finally. "Anja and I did. That."_ _

__"Congratulations. I'm happy for you both." And she was. Though she was honest enough to admit she probably would have been less so without the package from Leo._ _

__"Thank you. It was a long time coming, I suppose."_ _

__"Yes, it was." He made a face at her but she ignored him. "Leo and I didn't see anyone acting suspiciously after you left. And we stayed until the very end of the party."_ _

__He cleared his throat very awkwardly. "And after that?"_ _

__Bea looked at him a moment, then attempted to arch her brow the way their mother did. "None of your business."_ _

__"You know about my business!"_ _

__"If you can successfully deduce what happened I'll be happy to confirm or deny."_ _

__"That basically just guessing, then."_ _

__She refrained from pointing out she hadn't had to guess. Much as she didn't want to talk about her personal life with Charlie, she didn't want to know what he might guess. A few half truths would probably hold him off. "He drove me home. He was a perfect gentleman. You shouldn't be so suspicious of him."_ _

__He looked at her for a moment, and then nodded."Perhaps not. He does seem like decent guy. But I do worry about you."_ _

__Unable to help herself, she asked the question that had been bothering her for ages. "Why? Why is everyone so worried about me? Why does it matter if I get ruined or get my heart broken? I'm highly unlikely to have an opportunity to marry. And maybe I want a chance to have my heart broken. Maybe I just want to feel like a normal woman for once. To be told I'm beautiful instead of smart. To be smiled at and- and called doctor and to be sent presents. Why is that wrong?"_ _

__Charlie began fiddling with his paints, clearly thinking. "We all want to protect those we love from pain. And why have you consigned yourself to always being alone?"_ _

__She ticked her reasons off on her fingers. "I am thirty. Smarter than most men not related to me. Intimidating to those few who are smarter. And socially awkward."_ _

__"And I'm in love with a woman who could kill me in her sleep. It does take all kinds."_ _

__She tilted her head. "And if the kind I find is one no one will let me be with?"_ _

__Charlie smiled, picking up his paintbrush. "Well. When have you ever confined yourself to what people told you you could do?"_ _

__He turned back to the shield and she watched him a moment, feeling oddly as though he had pulled a rug out from under her feet. Maybe it was possible. Maybe this could just be the last thing in a long, long line of unconventional life choices she had made. Maybe it was worth the fight with her parents and the funny looks from her sisters._ _

__Maybe she didn't have to be alone._ _

__"He sent me chocolates," she said softly, because she had to tell someone and Anja wasn't here. "And something called limoncello."_ _

__"The man does apparently understand proper courting."_ _

__"Should I do something in return? A thank you?"_ _

__"I think you'd have to ask Anja if you want the best advice, but yes. I think a letter would be appropriate."_ _

__"Thank you." She turned back to her work room to find pen and paper._ _

__She was still working on her note—draft number eleven, by count of the crumpled papers in the wastebasket—when Anja tapped on her office door. The other woman smiled when Bea looked up. "Hello. I'm sorry about last night. Mr. Torrente saw you home...?" She smiled and raised an eyebrow at the end. Yes, her voice did seem to be also inquiring if something untoward had gone on, but it was in a far more encouraging than disapproving tone. Anja seemed to be rooting for her._ _

__"He did," she confirmed. "Though it was late enough I had to climb the birch outside Lillian's window and walk over the roofline to sneak into my room." She crumpled up draft eleven and tossed it at the waste bin. "He kissed me, after a bit of a discussion."_ _

__Anja grinned and came further into the room. "Was it good?"_ _

__"It was extremely pleasant," Bea said emphatically. "He sent me a present this morning."_ _

__She could see Anja look at the box of chocolates, now half-eaten, on her desk. "Very nice. Points for him." She threw a glance over her shoulder that Bea didn't miss. She made a note to tell her brother that Anja would like chocolates._ _

__"I am trying to write a thank you note to assure him of my continued interest but am having difficulty composing it."_ _

__"Be honest and direct," Anja said. "No, not just that. Be obvious. Be exceedingly obvious in your regard."_ _

__Normally, it was not advice Bea would have needed, but she had been trying to be flirtatious the way other women seemed to find so easy. Direct and obvious was more her style anyway. "Thank you," she said, laying out a fresh sheet of paper. "Congratulations, by the way."_ _

__Anja blushed a little. "Thank you." She looked over her shoulder again. "He's a little afraid of my father. _Charlie_ , of all people. I have to figure Mr. Torrente put that package in the mail half afraid it would result in all your brothers _and_ your father, plus maybe Cap or my Dad as a bonus showing up on his doorstep with guns. So there should be no mistaking it was well received and appreciated."_ _

__"He thinks we are impossible." Her sorrow and frustration rose in her again. "That my family will reject him and I'll just end up hurt. I tried to tell him they're more understanding than they appear from the outside but. . . It was a relief that he sent me something. That last night wasn't the end."_ _

__"Will your family reject him?"_ _

__She sighed. "I don't think so? Not if his intentions are good, anyway. My mother cleaned chimneys and dressed as a boy when she was young, I don't know that they have much room to judge."_ _

__"Have you tried explaining to him that in your class, by the time a woman is 30 most parents have lowered their standards to 'of sound mind and possessing a penis'? Give it another year or two and the sound mind part will also be negotiable."_ _

__Bea laughed a little, shaking her head. "Not is so many words. Perhaps I should include it in my note."_ _

__Anja was quiet a moment, then she said, "I want to apologize for the joke about buggery the other week. Charlie and I have no boundaries and the war injected a great deal of vulgarity into our senses of humor. Obviously I thought it was him in there."_ _

__She froze, pen dripping ink onto her paper. She recalled the joke and the circumstances it had been told in quite well. Without looking back at Anja she said, "He told you."_ _

__"He did," Anja replied. "I think it's fantastic."_ _

__"Are you going to tell anyone else?" Bea asked, risking a glance her way. "That I don't think my family would accept so easily."_ _

__"It isn't my business to tell. I haven't told anyone you make me weapons."_ _

__Bea let out a breath she hadn't entirely realized she'd been holding. "Thank you. And you don't have to apologize. I found it quite funny once Charlie explained the specifics."_ _

__"The fact that that conversation happened causes me great amusement." She paused. "And thank you. For sparing him having to put the suit on."_ _

__Charlie went pale at the mention of getting into a suit, even now. She remembered vividly the look on his face the first time she'd offered to take his place in the field. "Charlie has always been my favorite brother. He's always tried to understand me. I would do far more unpleasant things to make his life easier."_ _

__Anja bit her lip and smiled a bit as she said, "Me too."_ _

__Bea twirled her pen through her fingers, then back again, studying the other woman. "I had not planned to do any 'if you hurt him I'll destroy you' posturing as I didn't think you would take me seriously if you didn't know I was Iron Man. In any case, it would demean us both. Interesting as that battle might be. Shall we just reach an accord? That we will both do all we can to take good care of him?"_ _

__Anja smiled. "I was kind of hoping you would. Posture, I mean. Somebody should. Men can get their hearts broken just as easily as women, yet only we are postured over."_ _

__"Well I could if you _liked_. I would need one of my gauntlets for best threatening."_ _

__The other woman laughed. "I suppose intent is enough. And I promise I will do all that I can to take good care of him."_ _

__"Then we have an accord."_ _

__Anja patted her arm and stood. "Write your letter. And make sure your suit is ready. I think something is happening."_ _

__That got her attention. "Soon?"_ _

__"I think so. Maybe not today, but soon."_ _

__Bea nodded. "I'll be ready."_ _

* * *

To be continued in our next installment: _The Smartest People in the World_


	15. The Smartest People in the World

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, quick explanation for the unintended hiatus. A lot of stuff has been going on in my and Olive's lives, the happiest of which is she just became a mom this weekend! We tried very hard to finish up the WiPs we had, but were not entirely successful. Lost Generation has one more chapter after this one completed. So, I will be posting that and then the story will be on hiatus until such time as we can finish it. Chapter 16 ends on a good, positive note, so we won't be leaving you with a cliffhanger. 
> 
> We both hate orphaned works, so we do promise to come back and finish this up, we just don't want to make any promises as to when. I will try to post updates and such on my Tumblr when I have a better idea of timing. Thank you all for reading, we do appreciate all your comments and kudos. 
> 
> In the meantime, if you are jonesing for a historical type AU of ours, I will be posting a brand new Captain America AU later this week. It was a WiP we did manage to finish, right at the wire, and had wisely not begun posting until it was complete. No idea title yet.

Before any action, there was paperwork.

They had taken over one of the meeting rooms to spread out the massive guest list from the party, and cross reference it with known lists of visitors to Leo's speakeasy. The man kept excellent records.

But it was tedious work. Anja's eyes were starting to blur.

"Italian surnames are overburdened with vowels," Bea said from her end of the table. That was probably her way of complaining all the names were starting to run together for her.

Charlie leaned away from the table and rubbed his eyes. "We could take a coffee and dinner break," he said. "Maybe go over any suspects we have so far."

"I don't have any, so far," Anja said with a sigh. "Nobody who's shown up on all of them."

He looked down the table at Bea who also shook her head. He frowned and crossed his arms. "Me neither."

"Well, hey," Anja said. "If we end up with a very short list in the end, that will be good." She signed. "Yes on coffee and food, though."

Charlie stood and stretched. "Diner down the block?"

"Sounds perfect." She reached out to rub his back a little as she passed him.

"Am I welcome or do you wish to be alone together?" Bea asked, straightening slowly.

"You are welcome," Anja replied. "I will restrain the groping."

"I'm sure I can handle anything you're willing to do in public." Bea followed Anja out of the meeting room and they headed down to the lab to gather up their coats and purses.

Downstairs at the diner, they ate their food in grumpy silence. "There's got to be a better way to do this," Anja said. "You're two of the smartest people in the country, you can't think of something?"

The Stark siblings exchanged a look and appeared to have some sort of silent genius conversation. Charlie finally said, "Building something that could do it would probably take longer than the hand sorting."

Anja poked at her potatoes. "What if we come up with nothing?"

"Then I suppose we start back at square one." Charlie sighed and picked up his soda. "With absolutely no suspect pool."

"Maybe we should have gone to a bar."

Charlie grinned crookedly. "I'm not sure we could have stuck with the no groping thing while drinking."

Under the table, she hooked her foot around his ankle. "You hush."

His grin widened and he leaned closer when Bea jumped in her seat, making a little noise in her throat. Whatever the noise meant, it caused Charlie to stop and turn to her. "What?"

"We're looking at the wrong people."

"What do you mean?" Anja asked.

Bea looked at them. "We're only looking at the guest lists. But they aren't the only people there."

"You think it's one of Torrente's people?" Charlie asked.

She nodded. "No one ever pays attention to people working for them. And he used people from the club to work the party."

"The problem with that is, there's no narrowing," Anja said. "They were pretty much all at everything."

"It narrows the suspects to a finite number, which is better than we had."

Charlie tapped the table, then picked up his knife and twirled it. "We'd need to observe them. To see if any of them tip their hand."

"Time to get out my fancy dresses." Anja could hear her own voice didn't sound terribly enthused.

Bea shook her head. "I don't know if observing as a client will be effective. You won't be able to track everyone. Not in that crowd. And servants and wait staff are trained to disappear and be unnoticed."

She rubbed her eyes. "Maybe we should talk to the grownups." Then she sighed. "Had to be indoors, didn't it? If it were outside, I could get up high, I could watch everything. To quote my father, nobody ever looks up."

It took her a moment to realize neither of them was answering. When she looked she saw they were doing that silent genius talking thing again. "What?"

Charlie tilted his head thoughtfully, still looking at his sister. "How much access do you think Leo can give us to the club." 

Bea actually batted her lashes. "I'm certain I can make a persuasive argument."

When Charlie groaned at that, Anja kicked him. They were going to have a conversation about being supportive of Bea's relationship—or whatever it was. "What will you be doing with said access?"

"The club is in a hotel," Charlie said, reaching down to rub his ankle. "The floor above it isn't used for rooms because of the noise, in fact, it’s likely attic or storage space. If we can get in there we can cut something in the floor. Make a perch."

"I think a modification of Papa's sub periscope would be the most effective," Bea added.

Charlie nodded in a agreement. "We might be able to camouflage it a bit. People love mirrors in weird places."

Anja grinned, and leaned over to kiss his cheek. "You're brilliant."

He beamed at her. "I will build you a perch."

She almost told him she loved him. The thought crossed her mind. But she'd never said it before—and now that they were, well, _more_ it probably carried a greater weight. And they had an audience. "Thank you," was all she said instead.

"You're very welcome." He was still looking only at her. When Bea cleared her throat he rolled his eyes a little. "She'll help a little."

"If I'm not needed I can go talk to Leo about letting us into the upper floor." Anja imagined that was the tone Bea might have used as a younger woman offering to eat the last of the cookies as a favor to her more weight conscious sisters.

Charlie opened his mouth, but before a sound could come out, Anja said, "Yes."

"Excellent." The other woman stood and gathered up her purse. "I'll check in with you both later." She gave Charlie a very smug grin before making her escape.

She rubbed Charlie's arm. "She'll be fine."

He leaned his head down to rest it in his crossed arms. "My other sisters’ courting was far less in my face."

"She does have to watch us."

"I suppose." He lifted his head. "I'm trying to be understanding and modern about it. I really am."

"Are you still offended by the particular man, or just your sister having one in general?"

With a deep sigh, he started playing with his knife again. "In general, I suppose. He seems to have been respectful and. . . honorable towards her. And he stepped up when I wasn't particularly nice to him. At this point he'd probably treat her better than someone of our class. I'm not entirely sure I _like_ the man, but. . ." He sighed again. "Mostly I want to protect my little sister. And she's finally decided I don't have to. It stings."

"She wants to protect you, too, you know. She threatened me."

He stared. "Bea did?"

"She is Iron Man."

"I know. I'm rather flattered."

Anja leaned forward, to give him a kiss on the mouth. "We both look out for you."

He smiled almost shyly. "Thank you. I look out for you, too."

"I know. You always have." He'd made her wear his uru suit during the final battle, even when she didn't think she needed it. She wondered sometimes if she'd have gone after him even without it, and if she'd have survived.

"And I will continue to do so, as long as you let me."

She hoped that was a long time. She rested her head on his shoulder. "You think we're done for the day?"

"You mean at work? Yeah, probably I doubt Bea's coming back. Not much left to do until we find out if we can spy on the club or not."

"We could go clean up the paperwork and then go. . . tinker in your private lab."

A chuckle rumbled through his chest. "Your ideas intrigue me."

"That's because I'm very smart." She nudged him so he'd get out of the booth. He obeyed, reaching down to take her hand to help her up. He didn't let go once she was upright, weaving their fingers together as they walked out of the diner.

*

Leo liked getting to the speakeasy several hours early, to stock the drinks and go through his books. It was quiet, and he liked it. No one ever came into a bar before dinner.

Which was why he was surprised when one of the doormen rapped on the door to inform him there was someone asking to see him. He really hoped it wasn't one of the mooks coming around to ask him awkward questions again. He thought he'd put the suspicion to rest. But then, everyone was nervous after the murder at the party.

He made his way out through the dark casino room and into the outer room, and was very surprised to find Beatrice Stark standing out there.

She was wearing the exact opposite of the outfit he'd seen her in last. Rather than the lovely, asymmetrical gown she'd had on for the party she was pinched and pinned into a prim blouse and skirt, hair braided and pinned. She looked as out of place in his bar as she possibly could. But she looked absolutely delighted to see him.

He found himself smiling back. He like this her. She looked a little less completely out of his league. "This is a lovely surprise."

"I'm sorry for bothering you at work."

Leo came a little closer. "You're never a bother. What brings you here?"

She glanced back the way the doorman had come. "It would probably be better if I asked you in private."

He raised an eyebrow, and then motioned for her to follow him into the casino. She followed at his heels, skirt swishing softly. He kind of expected her to try to kiss him as soon as they were alone and when he looked at her it seemed like it might have crossed her mind. Instead, she folded her hands in front of her and said, "We think one of the staff is the poisoner."

"One of _my_ staff?"

She nodded. "We've checked the guest names and there is no overlap for all the incidents. But no one ever watches staff."

"I don't. . ." He shook his head. "I know these guys."

Her mouth pursed a little and she stepped closer, reaching out to take his hand. "I'm sorry, Leo. We could be wrong. But it's an avenue we need to explore."

He squeezed her hand. "I can talk to them, but I don't think that will help. You're not going to get anything out of them via interrogation, either, I can assure you. Nobody snitches."

"I assumed as much. We were hoping to try old fashioned spying. The floor above this is crawl space, yes?"

"I believe so, yes."

"Excellent." She rocked on her toes. "We'd like to cut a hole in the ceiling."

He tipped his head back and looked up. "Er. All right. I think."

"We're going to install a periscope and observe the club from there." She stepped a little closer and tipped her head back too, inspecting the ceiling. "I thought perhaps a nice glass or mirrored globe would disguise it and still be aesthetically pleasing."

"We could do that. I trust your ability to build things."

She smiled brilliantly, shifting so she was looking up at him. "Why, thank you."

He looked down at her. "It's really good to see you," he said quietly. He'd been very nervous sending that package. But the letter he's received in reply had been completely worth it.

"You, too," she said softly. "I've been thinking of you a great deal."

"I hope I'm not distracting you from your work."

"I'm capable of thinking of several things at once. And you and my work take up very different parts of my brain." She reached out and touched his arm, fingers light. "Do I distract you from yours?"

He felt himself smiling. "Often."

He could tell that pleased her. Mostly because it caused her to stretch up on her toes and kiss him. They shouldn't. He shouldn't. He knew that. But he couldn't seem to help himself, reaching up to cup her face in his hands and kiss her back.

Her arms wound around his neck and he felt her soften a little, as if she'd been prepared to be rebuffed. Her kiss was soft and sweet and oddly innocent. They had started the same way last night. He liked that there was a soft, almost shy side to her. He liked all the different sides of her he had seen. Leo pulled her closer, sliding his arms around her waist. "I'm glad you came."

She took a deep breath, resting her head on his shoulder. "So am I. Though if I'm keeping you from something. . ."

"I'm honestly having trouble remembering anything I had to do."

"I shall continue to be a tempting distraction, then."

He nuzzled her hair. "Would you like to see the still?"

She bounced on her toes again. "Absolutely."

He tucked her arm into his, and led her into the back, through the office and into a room with three locks on the door, that held his still. She reacted very much like a kid given free reign in a candy store. In an instant she'd let him go to start inspecting the equipment.

"I should have brought my tools," she muttered. "I could have started our upgrades."

"Well, I suppose now you have an excuse to come back."

She looked at him over her shoulder. "I suppose I do."

"I'd like that," he said quietly. "If you'd come back."

He thought her cheeks might have pinked a little. She abandoned the still to go back to him. "Would you help me work on the still?" she asked.

"Of course. I tried to make some of your modifications—but an engineer I am not."

"That's all right. I can walk you through it. It can be sweaty work, though. You might have to take your shirt off." This with a wide-eyed innocent look. 

Well. If she was going to bait him. Two could play at that. "Will you also need to remove yours?"

"It's possible. Though, gentleman that you are, I imagine you'll do most of the heavy lifting."

He grinned at her. "Well, of course."

"But I imagine I would end up in some manner of dishabille."

"I can work with that," he said, letting his eyes wander over her. She shifted slightly under his regard. She had some sort of mental catalog of subtle cues that told her about a person's mental or emotional state. He didn't need all that to know why this particular woman was fidgeting.

"I know it would be better if we didn't see each other," he said finally. "But I find myself very reluctant to listen to logic."

She reached out to touch his hand again. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but logic is overrated."

He turned his hand over, lacing their fingers together. His hand swallowed hers. She wasn't a tiny woman, but she had delicate bones. "If I could I would call on you properly, you know."

"I know," she said softly. "I'd love to have you."

He tried to picture it and it only depressed him. They'd probably make him go around the servants entrance in the back. "I'm sorry," he said with a sigh.

"Hush." She stepped closer, close enough he could feel the heat of her body against his. "This is nice."

He reached up to cup her cheek. "Are you sure about this?"

"Entirely and completely."

"Well. You are the smartest person I know." 

She wrapped her arms around him, pressing close. "You should definitely take my word for it." It seemed good enough for him, so he leaned in and kissed her.

* * *

To be continued in our next installment: _A Brother and Sister Against the World_


	16. A Brother and Sister Against the World

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone pointed out in the comments that we'd never posted chapter 16, so I thought I should do so. But don't get too excited. The muse kind of ebbs and flows, which is why we usually don't start posting things until at least primary writing is done. We'll come back around at some point. We still love this story.

"How do I work this thing now?"

Anja was standing in his kitchen, barefoot in one of his shirts, with the sleeves rolled up. Charlie brought some of his kitchen inventions upstairs to test them in his daily life. Anja, of course, had to go poke at them. But if she was going to loiter around half undressed while she was doing it, that was fine by him. "You put the slices of bread in the slots at the top, and then press the lever down."

"And then it toasts them."

"Yes."

She gave him a sideways look. "And this is. . .all it does?" 

"Yes," he said defensively. "Why?"

"I just. . . had not imagined toast-making was so difficult that a dedicated appliance would be needed."

He shrugged. "My mother likes her toast barely browned. Dad likes it black and crispy. This lets you get the precise amount of toasting you want, consistently, every time. It's about convenience, Anj. Making life better."

"I like it in the middle," she said, rotating the temperature control. "I also can see this being very handy if you have a bunch of kids to feed."

"See, there's a lot of stuff about living in the lower classes I don't understand. Having a large family, that I get. I want to make women like my mother who don't have servants happy. Let them sit and have a cup of coffee. Or read the paper."

She came over to him, sliding her arms around his waist and tucking herself against him. "You should look into that factory building thing, then."

"I know." He needed to talk to Bea. Technically, he could move on and do his manufacturing without outing her as the inventor. But if he left the Avengers they would need to replace him, and she deserved to have a shot. "I may start scouting out spaces."

"You could also make people's lives better with that, too, you know. Pay a good wage, treat people well. Like Henry Ford."

"I could hire women," he said, pressing a kiss into her hair.

She leaned back and looked up at him. "You could hire them and pay them same you pay the men."

"Of course I would, they're doing the same work."

"That's a very rare line of thinking. Most employers feel that because men have families to support, they need more money."

"Because every man gives all his money to his family and doesn't blow it all on what they want."

"You are preaching to the choir, my dear."

He kissed her forehead. "I will change as much of the world as I can."

From the floor below them, from what sounded like the stairwell, Charlie heard Bea yelling up to them. "Charlie? Anja? You up there?"

"Yeah. Come up. We're mostly decent." He glanced at Anja. "Unless you don't want Bea to see your legs."

"Have you seen the things I wear?" she asked.

Bea came up the stairs, and into the kitchen. She looked rather rumpled, and was holding Anja's brassiere. "Does this belong to either one of you? It was on the banister."

"Yes, that's mine," Charlie said in a deadpan, holding his hand out for it.

Bea shrugged and handed it over. "You should get fitted again, that back strap must be tight."

The toaster popped up the toast, and Anja went to retrieve it and spread it with butter. He eyed Bea. "How did it go?"

"Good. There's just crawl space above the club. We can go in tomorrow before opening and do what we need to."

"Did you go up and look at it?"

She ran a hand over her mussed hair. "Yes. I made a list of tools we'll need. Plus the periscope and a globe or other decoration to mask it."

Anja returned with her toast. "How's Leo?"

Bea's smile turned soft and dreamy. "Wonderful." Charlie rubbed his forehead. He'd get used to it eventually, right? 

Anja patted his arm as she munched her toast. "When can we get started?"

"Whenever we want, assuming the club is closed. Leo gave me a key."

"I have a meeting with my mother in the morning, for approvals and all. But I expect she'll agree it's a good idea. So we could probably start tomorrow if you could get the supplies in time."

"We have most of it in the lab. Charlie, you'll need to hit a hardware store for things to get through the ceiling."

"Why do I have to go to the hardware store?"

Bea crossed her arms over her chest. "Because I get patronized when I go to hardware stores and I'm in too good of a mood to ruin it just yet."

Anja laughed. "I can just picture that. Some old man who couldn't tell an electrical wire from a pipe cleaner interrogating you about your choice in pliers. Is your sewing machine broken, honey?"

"I had one accuse me of making up words to sound smart," Bea told her. "Then I told him some other words I knew and was asked to leave and not come back."

"I remember that," Charlie said. "Dad couldn't decide if he was proud or mad he'd have to find a new store to send you to."

"The war did wonderful things for my vocabulary of foul language," Anja said.

"Mine, too," Bea chimed in. "And working on the Avengers had rounded it out nicely. Leo was quite surprised at some of the words I knew." Charlie gave her a sharp look and she added smoothly, "No comment."

"I should go get dressed and get home," Anja said. She bumped Charlie's shoulder. "Wouldn't want my father coming up here to beat you up."

"I appreciate that." Heedless of Bea, he ducked his head and kissed Anja. "Be safe. I'll see you later." He watched her go into the bedroom, and then looked back at Bea, who was making one of her faces. Bea had about seven million faces. "What?"

The face melted away and eventually she said, "I believe the correct word is jealous."

He folded his arms over his chest. "Never tell me your visit with Mr. Torrente involved only businesslike hand shaking."

"There was quite a lot of kissing," she admitted. "But I'm not going to have anything like what you and Anja have and we both know it."

"Even I don't know what Anja and I have."

"Well, it's more than I'm likely to have with a mob connected son of a butcher."

This was his opportunity to discourage Bea. To steer her away from this completely inappropriate man. Instead he found himself saying, "As I said before, when have expectations or disapproval or 'likely' ever stopped you?"

She smiled faintly. "I know. It's just. . . hard to have to fight for every little thing that I want." She glanced around the room and for an awful moment he thought she was going to cry. "People think that because we're Starks we have everything handed to us. Get everything we want. But this would be much easier if I was a mechanic's daughter."

"They wouldn't have let a mechanic's daughter into MIT," he said. He looked over at his toaster. It was completely ready for production. If only he could take the step. "But I know exactly what you mean."

He could feel his sister watching him. "It's not sustainable," she said softly. "What we've been doing. Sooner or later I'm going to get hurt on a mission and our lies will crumble around us. It's been a close call more than once."

Just like that, he felt the room closing around him. Badoon arms pulling at his limbs and scratching at the faceplate. "I can't go back, Bea. I can't."

"I know. I'm not suggesting you do." The calm, reasonable tone of her voice settled some of his panic. "But neither of us are happy, are we?"

He looked back at her. "I want to build a factory."

Her brows went up. "For your projects?" He nodded. "Papa would give you one of his in a heartbeat."

"To make household appliances? He'd laugh me out of his library."

"I thought that once and I ended up going to MIT."

"I think his daughter doing masculine things fits far better than his son doing womanly things. Remember him insisting to mama that the inventory and cataloging system you built for his booze warehouse counted as a woman's sphere because beverages came from the kitchen?"

She smiled a little at the memory. "Making things for women to use doesn't make it a womanly pursuit. You're still inventing. Still innovating. And if he does laugh you can laugh back, all the way to the bank."

Anja came out of the bedroom fully dressed. She waved at them but didn't interrupt as she made her way out. When she'd gone down the stairs, he said. "He knew you fought in the Last Battle. He _let_ you."

"It wasn't without convincing. I had to threaten to tell Mama. And I was already in the suit."

"Has it come up since?"

She shook her head. "Well, I walked in on him drunk once and he started talking about the war and losing George and how frightened he'd been when he saw me in his suit. But he never mentioned it sober. I don't think he even told Mama."

"I think you'd have heard about it if he'd told Mama."

"That is what I base my presumption on, yes."

He watched her. "Do you want to keep doing it? I mean, maybe we could get someone else to wear the suit."

For a moment she looked as panicked at the idea of not wearing the suit as he was at the idea of wearing it. "I want to keep doing it. I love doing it. It's one of the only times I really feel like myself."

"I . . . don't want to do any of it. I don't want to wear the suit, I don't want to make weapons, I don't want to be involved in anything where people might die. I want to make things that make people's lives better."

Bea nodded. "It seems you and I are in accord. It's the rest of the world we have to convince."

"Anja feels her mother would be on board. Which, granted, was never the problem, but. . ." he shrugged.

"At least it's one fight we don't have to have," she said. "Perhaps when the poisoning case is concluded."

He blew out a breath. "Let me think about it."

"All right."

"Are you going to tell them about Leo, too?"

"I would like to. He is understandably reluctant."

He tried to picture her explaining that to their father. "You might want to start with Mama on that one."

She laughed softly. "Yes. Thank you. I'm not an idiot."

"Anja has been giving me an earful about how you are a grown, modern woman and have every right to have a dalliance if you want to, and it is not any business of either mine, or our parents," Charlie said. He looked at Bea for a moment. "But it's not a dalliance, is it?"

The laughter died and she looked down at his kitchen table. She traced the whorls of the wood with one finger. "No. I don't think it is. He speaks about us being impossible but it's because we're impossible as a couple, not as an affair. I think he'd be horrified at the idea. And so we go around and around. We want each other, but not without a future."

Charlie was very reluctantly growing to kind of like this man. "Well, good." He paused. "Maybe he is worthy of you."

She looked up at him. He expected her to snap at him, inform him it wasn't any of his business. That worthy was a social construct with no bearing on who she or Leo was. Instead, she said softly, "Thank you, Charlie."

"He is probably going to, at some point, need to find an occupation that doesn't involve crime, though."

"His father was a butcher. But Leo is smart. So smart. He could work in one of Papa's business easily. Look at how well he runs the speakeasy." 

"His hooch is really delicious, too." He smiled. "Maybe you guys could move to Canada where's it's legal to sell it."

"I do have some excellent ideas on improving his methods."

"You were always much better than me at chemistry." It was why she made such good explosives.

"Distilling is actually a fascinating process. I want to try my hand at beer."

"Making wine for home use is technically legal."

She tilted her head. "I bet Uncle Loki would bring me grapes from California."

"Undoubtedly. I know how he feels about prohibition." He reached out to touch her arm. "We will figure this out, Bea."

"I know." She covered his hand with hers, "Thank you, Charlie."

"You're welcome to stay here tonight if you don't feel like going home."

"I'd appreciate that. I don't think I can face them right now."

He leaned over to kiss her temple. "You are always welcome here."

"Even when Anja is over?"

He opened and closed his mouth, then shook his head and laughed. "Depends what you can tolerate. She. . . makes a lot of noise."

Bea's face was flummoxed a moment, then she blushed. "I'll take that under advisement." Then she tilted her head. "I wonder if I make noise."

Charlie put his hand over his eyes. "God, why did you say that?"

"I wanted to see how you'd react."

"I'm going to bed now."

"Sweet dreams, big brother.”


End file.
